


Some Form of Electricity

by FestiveFerret, SirSapling



Series: Art is Long and Life is Short [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Adult Communication, Alternate Universe, Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cock Warming, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Possessive!Tony, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Quite a lot of it, Romance, Skinny!Steve, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Still Not a Chicken AU, relationship angst, relationships, tony is still iron man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling
Summary: Steve doesn’t know what he’d do without Tony, and thank god he has him, because after getting the phone call that Bucky’s alive, everything is a blur. But Tony gets him there, all the way to Germany. It isn’t until he’s watching his friend lie motionless in a hospital bed that it really hits him.Bucky is coming home, and he’s coming home broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is book 2 of the Art is Long series. You don't have to have read book 1 or the first insert (Patience), but they will both obviously make this one make more sense! There are several more books and inserts planned for this series! 
> 
> This work will update every Sunday for 9 weeks (9 chapters + epi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I am among those who think that science has great beauty.” - Marie Curie_

Steve reached up to slide the tip of his brush along the cornice of the NoMad hotel, but a hand reached around from behind and circled his wrist, stilling its progress. “Tony…” he murmured, breaking into a smile. He set his brush down and another hand came to his other wrist. Tony’s heat pressed against Steve’s back, and he hummed wordlessly as he kissed his way across the nape of Steve’s neck. “I’m covered in paint.”

“Don’t care.” Tony’s voice, soft and low, vibrated down Steve’s spine.

“You’ll get your clothes all dirty.”

“I’ll buy new ones,” Tony tossed out dismissively, and Steve thrilled. Tony was good about keeping the insane spending under control - he was usually so careful around Steve - but when he was wild and pushed to his limits he forgot to hold back, dropping obscene amounts if it meant getting Steve in his arms faster. And that should have been overwhelming, or obnoxious, but instead it was fucking hot.

Tony nudged the back of Steve’s knee with his own, guiding him over to the wall then pressed his palms flat against the plaster. When Steve flexed his forearms to agree to the game, show he wouldn’t move, Tony’s hands dropped down and started a frenzied dance over Steve’s skin. Warm fingers teased the hem of his shirt, tucked under his waistband, found the soft skin of his belly and stroked along it. Tony’s mouth latched onto the back of Steve’s neck and sucked what would surely be a dark bruise into it.  

“Tony -” Steve started, but he cut off as Tony popped the button of Steve’s jeans and pushed them roughly over the curve of his ass and to his thighs, taking the back of his boxers with them. He felt Tony press against him, still-clothed, but hard and insistent, the rough scrape of denim sending shivers up Steve’s spine. “Jesus, Tony. We should - ugh - we should go upstairs, someone is going to walk in.”

“I have been away -” Tony punctuated each word with a kiss behind Steve’s ear “- for two of the longest weeks of my life. I got back five minutes ago. Do you really think there’s any chance that any of our hapless tower-mates are going to risk going anywhere near either of us for at least twenty-four hours?”

“Good point.” Steve gasped as Tony’s hand slid between his legs, his cool skin a startling contrast to the heat of Steve’s thighs. “Wait. You - you’ve been home for five whole minutes and you’re only just coming to me now?”

Tony ground forward, pressing Steve against the wall. His cock rubbed against the fabric of his boxers, and he groaned. “The elevator was so fucking slow. I swear to god, I’m going to put repulsors on that thing.” Tony’s hips rocked, and he moaned, low and rough, right in Steve’s ear.

“Ah, fuck. Tony - wait - I wanna see your face.”

Tony obliged, releasing Steve long enough to spin him around. Their eyes met, and they broke into twin grins. “Hi.”

“Hi, you.” Steve tipped up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Tony’s lips, sinking into the arms that wrapped around his waist. He hummed with pleasure as Tony drew out the kiss, the franticness having vanished at the sight of each other. Tony’s hands still pawed and petted and explored, but something calmed between them. 

“You’re covered in paint.”

“I told you.” Steve leaned back, pulling his pants back up before they fell down completely, and saw the splotch of blue that marred Tony’s crisp jacket. He shrugged and pressed his paint-covered t-shirt back against Tony’s chest, nuzzling his nose against Tony’s skin, finding a gap between his jaw and his shirt collar. “You smell like airplane.”

“Really? That’s what I get? Gone for two weeks, barely time to call, come all the way home and right into your arms - non-repulsor elevators notwithstanding - and I don’t get ‘I missed you,’ or ‘I love you’ or ‘shut up and fuck me now.’ I get ‘you smell like airplane.’”

“You told me I was covered in paint.”

“Well, you are.”

“And you smell like airplane.” Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, and hopped up until his legs could twine around his waist. Tony held him easily, supporting his weight with a firm hold on Steve’s hips. “I missed you,” Steve added with a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, yeah. And I love you.” Tony rolled his eyes, but the way he lightly brushed his nose against Steve’s betrayed his expression. He walked out the connecting door into the workshop, carrying Steve with him. “So how is everything here? How are the kids?”

“Clint set fire to a rug.”

“Oh shit, no. I meant DUM-E and U. God help me if I ever ask after Barton the Wonder Hawk.” Tony stopped, halfway to the couch. “How did he set fire to a rug?”

“He was trying to fix the toaster.”

“Wild animals, the lot of you. I open my home to your band of merry men, just because you have a thing for Robin Hood-ery and I can’t seem to stop indulging you in your things, and this is the thanks I get. Do you know what the grocery bills are like for this place? I swear to god, we eat the GDP of Nepal in Mac and Cheese alone. Where the fuck do they put it all?”

“They work out a lot.” Steve rolled his hips, rising up and finding the angle that brushed Tony’s erection against his ass, trying to pull his attention back to matters at hand.

“I’m still waiting for the day I get a call and one of you lot is in jail - more likely all of you together, actually - and I have to go marching down to make bail, and you’ll all probably be very expensive, and don't think I don’t know that you’d be the ringleader of that little -”

“Tony.” Steve gripped each side of his face and waited until Tony’s eyes found his. “Shut up and fuck me.”

There was a moment of absolute stillness, and then Tony rushed forwards, slamming Steve against the inside of the elevator. He dropped his hands from Steve’s hips, letting his ass catch on the railing and pressed both hands to the wall on either side of Steve’s head. He claimed Steve’s mouth, rough, fiery and unforgiving while the elevator wailed up to the penthouse unasked.

Steve gripped hard with his legs, crossing his ankles behind Tony’s back and pulling him in tight. He ground his hips against Tony’s finding friction for his needy cock. His pants were still undone and the zipper dug in cruelly, but the pain was heady and exhilarating, sending shocks through his core that burst into heated throbs. Steve rucked his hands under Tony’s shirt, finding the edge of the arc reactor with his fingers and tracing it, reminding himself that Tony was safe, broken, but put back together more beautiful than before, like gold poured into the fissures of cracked pottery. 

“I thought about you every day,” Steve huffed out between hitching breaths. Tony’s enthusiastic affection always felt a bit like an asthma attack, tight and breathless and overwhelming, but also the hottest fucking thing he’d ever experienced. He sunk into it, letting Tony’s body support his weight, Tony’s hands explore his skin. He didn’t have to think, or worry, or  _ try,  _ he just  _ was, _ while Tony took him apart.

“Mmm? What did you think about?” The elevator chimed at their floor, and Tony scooped Steve up again, backing out of the door. He pressed his mouth, hot and wet, against Steve’s adam’s apple, and Steve tipped his chin back, leaning back, knowing Tony’s strong arms wouldn’t let him fall, baring his neck to Tony’s teeth and tongue.

“This. You. Your -  _ unng _ -” Tony scraped his teeth along the edge of Steve’s collar. “Your hands. The curve of your fingers - the way they look on paper and they way they feel deep inside me.”

“Christ, Steve.”

“I thought about -” Steve sucked in oxygen hard, reminding himself to breathe as Tony ground their bodies together. “About your arms.” Steve ran his palms over Tony’s biceps, tensed with supporting his weight, dipping his fingers into the creases and curves of the muscles. “How safe I feel when you -” Tony dumped Steve on the bed on his back and immediately caged him between those arms, stealing the end of his sentence with a bruising kiss.

Tony skated both hands down Steve’s arms as his tongue teased the seam of his lips, then hooked the waistband of Steve’s pants and shoved them down, boxers and all, eventually having to step out from between Steve’s legs to pull them off. He took the opportunity to shed his own clothes as well, then stepped forward stroking up the inside of Steve’s thighs and easing his legs wide at the same time. His fingers framed Steve’s crotch, his thumbs curling down to part Steve’s ass, brush teasingly at his rim.

Tony dropped down and licked a hot stripe up the underside of Steve’s cock, wrapping his lips around it when he reached the head. Steve arched back on the sheets, in that wild unnameable moment where he was untethered and on edge, waiting for Tony to hold him, own him. Tony slid down, searing heat and soft tongue, until Steve hit the back of his throat, his hands clenching too hard on the underside of Steve’s thighs. 

It should make him feel weak, the way Tony pushed him around, molded him into the shape he wanted and took him, but instead it made Steve feel powerful, to know he could make Tony lose control. Tony had one of the most complex brains in the world and in these moments, he turned all of it towards Steve, the full force of his immense focus tuned to the movements, touches, and whispered words that would tear Steve apart most effectively.

The space in between Tony’s arms was safe, because it was sure, because it was home. And Tony never made him feel like he deserved anything less than everything.

Tony swirled his tongue around the head of Steve’s cock and hollowed his cheeks, and Steve’s chest vibrated with moans. It had been so long, and Steve had been waiting, preferring the torture of anticipation over his own hands not being anywhere close to as good as Tony’s. Tony shifted those hands now, squeezing two handfuls of Steve’s ass then pressing the pads of both thumbs against his hole. Steve’s nerves alighted, shivers of sensation rippling up his spine and making the back of his neck tingle.

Tony slid both hands under Steve’s ass and lifted, drawing him into his mouth as he sucked, his throat rippling around Steve’s cock. Steve’s legs hooked over Tony’s shoulders and his hands scrabbled in Tony’s hair, scraping his nails across Tony’s scalp the way he knew he liked. The pressure, the heat, was building and he knew it wouldn’t be long. After two weeks without Tony’s hands and mouth, fingers - _ fuck _ \- and those arms and - Tony looked up at him, sharp, piercing, demanding, and “I’m gonna, Tony, stop -”

Tony’s eyes darkened, tightened, and he didn’t stop, digging his fingers in as he brought Steve’s hips up to meet the relentless heat of his mouth.

“Ah - fuck -” Steve grabbed two handfuls of Tony’s hair, curly and wild from Steve’s desperate fingers. He reared up, holding Tony in place while he came so hard his vision whited out for a moment. When he could see again, he pushed up on one elbow, panting, shaking, to see Tony sliding off, come and spit leaking out around his lips. Steve’s cock popped free of Tony’s mouth and Tony slid a finger in instead, making an exaggerated show of sucking it, before crawling up to cover Steve’s body with his own.

Tony’s weight settled over Steve, supporting himself just enough with one hand that he wasn’t uncomfortably crushing, but still firm and steady in the wake of Steve’s earthquake orgasm. Steve brought his knees up automatically, clamping them on either side of Tony’s hips when his spit-slicked finger delved down to ease its way into Steve’s body, slow, but without pause. 

“God, you feel so good,” Tony whispered, the hot puff of his breath igniting every nerve ending in Steve’s neck into hypersensitive mayhem. “So hot and tight for me - did you wait?”

Steve only managed a vaguely affirmative sounding gurgle as Tony curled his finger and drew back. He scraped his teeth along Steve’s collarbone, burying his nose in the shirt Steve hadn’t found the time or attention to remove, and Steve drowned in an ocean of sensation, pushed to the edge of what he could handle on all fronts. A bottle clicked and Tony’s fingers came back slicked. Time went hazy as Tony rocked his fingers in and out of Steve’s hole, brushing his prostate with every smooth glide. 

Then blunt pressure, stretch, Tony was pushing inside him, hard and insistent, without removing one finger, easing his cock in alongside, and it was perfectly too much and too fast. Steve groaned, curling his hands into fists and pressing them against Tony’s chest, either side of the arc reactor. Tony rocked in, as slow and steady as his fingers had been on their own, but deep and so fucking full that Steve tipped his chin back and squeezed his eyes shut. Tony took it as invitation and licked a stripe up Steve’s neck, over his adam’s apple - the same tongue that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago. Steve was hard again already, pleasure building and curling low in his belly. He whined, nudging Tony’s cheek with his nose and was rewarded with a kiss and yes  _ \- god - _ he tasted like Steve.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Tony’s voice was rough, and it made Steve crazy, knowing he’d driven it there, that he could bring Iron Man to his knees.

He swallowed, trying to find his own voice again. _ “Nugh, _ so - good. Tony, Tony, Tony -” he broke into an endless string of Tony’s name, too fried to find another word and pretty sure he could search all day without finding a better one anyway.

Tony’s breath was hard and short now, huffed out against Steve’s shoulder, cutting off into groans and gasps. He slid his finger free and wrapped that hand tightly around Steve’s hip, bracing him against the sudden increase in pace as Tony pounded into him, chasing his pleasure now, lost in need. Steve focused on breathing - breathing - because if he stopped breathing Tony would stop, and he needed Tony to fill him up, he needed to feel his hands clench and his shoulders go taut and then hot and full and please please please and he must have said that out loud because Tony said, “I’ll give it to you,” then choked off a cry and there it was.

Steve arched into him, squeezing tightly with his knees as if he could draw Tony deeper inside, as if Tony wasn’t already as deep as he could, as if Steve wasn’t already stretched wide and filled. He felt Tony pulse hot inside him, and the thought of being filled with his come pushed Steve over the edge a second time, until he was coming too, shooting over his own stomach.  

They hung there for several breaths, then Tony let out a long breath and sunk down on top Steve, groaning into his chest. “Holy shit, the things you do to me,” he huffed out, and Steve laughed.

“Right back at ya.”

Tony leaned back, pulled free, making them both wince, and pressed a hard kiss to Steve’s lips. “God, I missed you.”

“I could tell.”

Tony smacked Steve lightly on the shoulder. “Not just for that.”

Steve stretched, watching Tony’s eyes dance over his naked body and warming under the gaze. “What for then?” He grinned.

“Reel that fishing rod back in, Ahab,” Tony said, but then he leaned over and traced his fingertip down Steve’s chest. “I missed my funny, sweet, beautiful, scowling, stubborn, perfect asshole.”

Steve smirked. “So it was about that.” He wriggled his hips, grinding his thigh against Tony.

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed away from the bed to pad into the bathroom. “Shower?”

Steve pondered the sticky, sweaty, paint-covered mess that he was, combined with the fact that by the time they were scrubbed clean, they would both be up for round two. “Coming!” He pushed off the bed and shivered when he felt Tony’s come drip down the inside of his thighs.

Later that night, clean, sated again, then clean again, they curled up together in bed, limbs intertwined, Steve’s cheek resting on Tony’s chest, soothed by the calm rise and fall under his head. Until it leapt, stuttered, knocked him off. Steve startled awake, sitting up, to find Tony doubled over with a hacking cough.

“You okay?” he slurred, trying to wake his tongue up with the rest of him.

Tony nodded, took a sip from the water glass by the side of the bed and groaned. “I’m fine. I got a bug at the show. Expo Plague. We all pass it around every year. ‘m almost better. Sorry I woke you.”

“That’s alright.” Tony tugged Steve back down, then turned around so his back was to Steve’s chest in case he needed to cough again. Steve curled around his back, twining his feet around Tony’s calves and pressing his forehead between Tony’s shoulder blades, one arm wrapped under Tony’s so his hand could rest over the arc reactor.

Tony was fine the next morning and plowed back into work as usual, taking every opportunity to come upstairs and ravish Steve. Steve focused on his painting when he wasn’t focused on his Tony - working on his first private commission that wasn’t Tony asking for a “fancy dick pic in vivid acrylics”. He was still sketching out concepts, finalizing the plan, and the next two days flew by in his studio.

In the middle of the third night, Steve woke up with a start, feeling like an angry porcupine had crawled its way out of his throat while he slept. He rolled to the side and groaned when every nerve in his body ignited with pain. A cough wriggled around deep in his lungs but he held it back, not wanting to wake Tony who was breathing calmly at his side. 

In the midst of the pain and disorientation, Steve was struck with a stomach-clenching anger. He was so fucking  _ sick _ of being  _ sick.  _ He choked out a huff of rage but it knocked the cough loose and once it started, it wouldn’t stop. Steve rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on one elbow with the other hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the wracking, shuddering heaves vibrating out of his body.

“Steve-?” Tony shot awake, confused, blinking through the darkness that was only broken by the glow of the reactor. “What’s wrong?”

Steve felt a soft hand land on his lower back, but he couldn’t stop the coughing long enough to explain. A shiver ricocheted down his spine and in an instant he was ice cold. The breaths between coughs were getting shorter and harder, and familiar bands tightened around his chest. 

There was a rustle beside him as Tony pushed out of bed, and a second later, his inhaler was shoved in his face, Tony’s hand a comforting weight on the back of his neck. Tony helped him sit back and kept his hand wrapped around Steve’s even as he took the inhaler and drew a dose of medicine into his aching lungs. The bands loosened slightly, and the coughing slowly abated. Eventually, Steve felt the relief of oxygen coursing through his veins again, and he was able to relax back onto the bed, half-sitting, half-slumped. He met Tony’s worried eyes.

Tony brought a hand to Steve’s cheek. “You’re a sweaty mess and about a thousand degrees. What’s wrong, love?”

“Sick,” Steve choked out, his voice even more wrecked than when Tony fucked his throat.

“Shit,” Tony brushed Steve’s hair out of his face then paled. “Oh shit, Steve, I gave this to you. This is Expo Plague. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I should have thought - I should have waited until I was better to come home.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Worth it.”

“Shut up, you’re clearly delirious.” Tony stacked all the pillows behind Steve and eased him back onto the pile. “J, temp?”

“Mr. Rogers currently has an internal temperature of 102.4 degrees,” JARVIS informed them.

“Well, shit, babe. That’s not good. J, order everything.” Tony couldn’t seem to stop touching Steve, and it was comforting but it was also sending his nerves tingling and raging in their hypersensitivity. Steve caught Tony’s hands and wound their fingers together in his lap. “What can I do? What do you need?”

“I’m alright -” Steve broke into another bout of coughing. “Kiss?”

Tony’s lips twitched into a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, then his forehead. “Soup?”

“It’s 3am, Tony. I don’t want soup.” Steve held back the laugh that was sure to send him into another coughing fit.

“Sleep? Drugs? Entertainment?”

“Uh -” Steve pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to squeeze his headache out of existence. The shivers traded off with a hot flash, and he broke out in a sticky sweat. “Ice water? And… quiet TV. And sleep.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Tony bustled around, disappearing and returning with a glass of ice water. He flicked the TV on, scrolled around to a baseball game replay and turned it down low. He had JARVIS keep the lights soft, but not off, and instructed him to keep the room at a carefully regulated temperature. He stood beside the bed, hands on his hips and looked at Steve’s nest. “Good?”

“Nope. You forgot -” Another cough “- something.”

“Kleenex? Vomit bucket? I don’t care if it’s 3am, I can make soup. If you only said no because you’re pretty sure I can’t make soup I would like to point out that I have both a microwave and Angelino’s phone number - like the actual Angelino and he will wake up at 3am to make me soup and send it over if I offer him an obscene amount -”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly, but Tony immediately cut off. “You. You forgot you. Come here.”

“I -” Tony hesitated, and Steve tried not to look to disappointed.

“Unless - yeah - I’ll keep you up and you have to work tomorrow. Nevermind. You should go to another room. Sorry.”

“That’s not - Steve that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and you suggested we get Thor a puppy for his birthday. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already emailed work that I’m not coming down for at least three days. But I think you should have the bed. Then if you get hot you can roll onto the cool side. So I’m just trying to decide which chair to drag in here. DUM-E could probably help me with the recliner…”

“Tony…” Steve’s heart swelled. “Please come here.” He opened his arms, and Tony sighed but crawled over him and stretched out at his side, choosing to rest his hand flat on Steve’s stomach instead of filling the place between his arms. There wasn’t much in the way of cuddling that Steve could do, propped up on the pillows and still struggling to keep his breathing even, but Tony wriggled around until his forehead was against Steve’s shoulder, and his fingers spread wide on Steve’s stomach, holding him, a reminder that he was there. Despite the pain, Steve was filled with a deep sense of safety and comfort, and his eyes stung so he let them fall closed. He lay both his hands over Tony’s and sunk into the pillows.

Every time he woke in the night - and it was often - Tony was gazing at him, a combination of worried and deeply affectionate. And by the time the clock told him it was 6:30 and he might as well stay awake, he was sure Tony hadn’t slept a wink.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Steve’s nose chose that moment to start running like a tap. He had to pee anyway, so he clapped his hand to his face and stumbled to the en suite, Tony hovering nervously behind him. Once he’d relieved himself and used up almost an entire roll of toilet paper blowing his nose, Steve turned and shot Tony a wobbly, damp smile. “Good morning,” he croaked.

Tony chuckled, gathering him into a close, but gentle hug. “God, you’re a hot mess, Steve.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m so sorry” 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re here.”

The rest of the day went by in a haze of napping, bad daytime television, soup that Tony thankfully did order instead of trying to make himself, and mountains of tissues. When Steve’s breathing became wet and unpleasantly thick, Tony rubbed Vicks on his chest and, to both or their surprise, managed to keep it PG. 

The next night was a little better, still broken up by coughing bouts and nose blowing, but better. Despite feeling like he’d been run over with an overloaded cement mixer, Steve’s libido reminded him that he’d gone two weeks without Tony and only just now had him back. But every touch on his skin was like sandpaper, and he groaned into his pillow as he watched Tony strip off his clothes for a shower in the morning, the sight making his dick jump painfully to attention.

“You okay?” Tony asked, running a hand down his own chest absentmindedly, drawing a path around the edge of the arc reactor - a habit he had of making sure it was seated properly. And that all just made it even worse.

“Stop being so hot.” Steve slapped the pillow over his face and whined into it. “It hurts.”

“Hmm.” The pillow was lifted away and replaced with Tony’s lips. “I miss you. But no sex until you’re one hundred percent better. Doctor’s orders.”

“I haven’t seen a doctor.” Steve pouted.

Tony grabbed a towel out of the cupboard, and Steve could hear the rush of water start up in the bathroom, thanks to JARVIS. “I’m the doctor. I have three PhDs.”

“I -” Steve stopped. He didn’t actually know that. It wasn’t on Tony’s wikipedia and the only times he talked about school were his undergrad at MIT. “Are you serious?”

“Sure. Electrical Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, and English Literature.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay, it’s Physics, but I write a mean poem.” Tony tossed his towel into the bathroom and came back to sit on the side of the bed. Steve ran his palm up Tony’s thigh. 

“I’m sure you do.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “You’ve never mentioned them before.”

Tony shrugged. “It wasn’t - I mean - I just wrote up one of my projects, slapped ‘Thesis’ on it, and sent it in. I didn’t -”

“Tony… just because something wasn’t hard for you, doesn’t mean it isn’t impressive.”

Tony shot him a look. “You told me once that I didn’t have to keep trying to impress you.”

“No, I believe what I said is that you didn’t have to keep trying to pick me up. Impressing me is still very much allowed. And also a daily occurrence.” He reeled Tony in, bringing their foreheads together, until Tony loomed over Steve. His skin prickled everywhere they touched but it was worth it. “You picked me up a long time ago and I’m very much hoping you never put me down.” He’d meant it as a joke, but weakened as he was, a little something else slipped through, and he felt Tony stiffen ever so slightly. Steve felt the urge to qualify it, to say he wasn’t asking for a promise, that he didn’t need that.

But Tony pulled back, kissed the end of his nose and whispered, “Never,” then stood and headed for the bathroom.

Without Tony to distract him, Steve rolled around in their bed unhappily, trying to find a position that didn’t make him sore, tired, or make his cough worse. By the time Tony emerged, Steve had moved past weak pouting and into frustrated anger that he’d been taken down once again by a fucking virus. Tony brought a cloud of coconut-scented steam with him as he exited the bathroom, and Steve rolled back over to catch sight of him. Low-rise jeans barely hooked over his jutting hip bones, acres of sculpted abs bared as Tony rubbed a towel over his hair, his t-shirt in his hand. Entirely unfair.

“Now there’s the scowl that made me fall for you in the first place.” Tony picked up his phone and flipped through it with a matching glare, his t-shirt forgotten. “Ah, shit. I have to go downstairs for a bit. Sorry, love.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to take time off work, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I won’t be. I’ll try to work, but all I’ll be able to think about is your adorable, pink nose and how amazingly angry you are right now.”

“I - shit, Tony you know I’m not mad at you, right?” Steve tried to school his expression into something less aggressive, but he didn’t have much control over it at the best of times so he wasn’t sure he was particularly successful.

“I know. If you were mad at me, I’d be in a dumpster out back already, I don’t doubt it for a second. I just - I know you get sick a lot and it sucks. And maybe I could make it less awful?” Tony twisted his t-shirt between his fingers. “No one ever sat with me when I was sick.” He shrugged.

“I appreciate it. I’m just mad because I had plans. I’ve missed you. There are things I very definitely wanted to do.” Steve put pointed emphasis on his words.

Tony let out a shaky breath. “Don’t I fucking know it. I just took care of things in the shower, but you’re not wearing a shirt and even though you’re all gross and snotty I think I might need to have another one.”

Steve laughed. “Fuck you. That’s so unfair.”

Tony leaned over and brushed a line of blurred kisses up Steve’s neck to his jaw. “Well, then. Get better, and I’d be more than happy to take care of you.”

“Tease.”

“Snot mountain.”

“Dick.”

“You wish-”

“Sir, may I remind you that Miss Potts -”

“Yes, yes.” Tony waved his hand in the vague direction of JARVIS’ speakers and pulled his shirt over his head. He bent down to press one last kiss to Steve’s lips then headed for the door. “If you need anything, just tell JARVIS and -”

_ “I know, Tony.  _ I’m sick, not five. Go to work.”

Tony eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “And don’t start the recording of CSI without me. I’ll know.”

“Get lost.” Steve rolled his eyes and shoved his face back in his pillow. A moment later he heard the door close. Alone, he let himself released the long, low whine that had built in his chest. His fever was spiking again, but he was too tired to do the math on whether he could take another hit of Tylenol or not. “JARVIS,” he mumbled. 

“Yes, Sir?”

“Can you let me know when I’m due for meds?”

“Of course, Sir. You will be due in another twenty-three minutes, and I’ll remind you then as well.”

“Thank you.”

“Sir? Mr. Stark has requested an update.”

Steve grinned into his pillow. He’d been gone for less than five minutes. “Tell him I’m having a playboy bunny party and he’s not invited.”

There was a long pause.

“He’s now reminding Miss Potts of all the times he  _ encountered  _ a ‘bunny’ himself. She is unamused.”

Steve laughed outright, shifting further down into his pillows. He tried to watch TV, but once he’d taken another dose of his meds, his rough night caught up with him, and he spent the next hour drifting in and out of a light sleep. When he found full consciousness, his stomach growled. He knew there was more soup in the fridge, so instead of bothering Tony, he hauled himself out of bed and padded into the kitchen. His head spun, and he grabbed the door frame for support. Ugh. This was the sickest he’d been in a while.

Luckily it hadn’t evolved into vomiting yet, and the smell of the soup heating in the microwave was enticing in a comforting way. There was nothing worse than heaving up all the contents of your stomach when your lungs were already giving you this much trouble. Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, arms wrapped around his middle, wishing he’d brought a blanket or a sweater out with him. The soup still had a minute to go, and he remembered leaving his favourite SI hoodie in the living room so he turned to go grab it. He spun too quickly, and vertigo slammed into him, shoving him two staggering steps to the side. His breath caught and set off a painful coughing jag that wouldn’t stop. His lungs ached, and he squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out for the counter edge to steady himself but he missed, tipped, and tumbled to the floor.

Steve landed hard on his hip and pain radiated up his spine. The shock stopped the coughing, but his head throbbed with every beat of his heart, and his chest tightened again, threatening a full-on asthma attack. “Fuck,” he huffed out to himself.

He counted to twenty, working calm, steady breaths in and out of his chest, easing off the pain and panic. He still needed his inhaler, but the adrenaline rush in his veins faded. He was just about to haul himself back to his feet when the elevator door chimed. “Oops.”

Dark jeans came into view at top speed, and Tony growled out a, “What the fuck, Rogers?!” as he skidded to the floor next to him. 

“Fine!” Steve said hurriedly, grabbing Tony’s knee with one hand to prove how very coordinated and on top of things he was, nevermind that he’d been aiming for his hand. “Coughed. Slipped.”

Tony’s hand brushed the side of his face, and Steve brought his eyes up to meet Tony’s. They were twisted and dark with fear and concern, only softening a little when Steve offered him a smile. Steve gestured towards his mouth with two fingers, their signal for his inhaler, and Tony stood and rummaged through the kitchen junk drawer until he came up with the backup. He crouched again and slipped it into Steve’s hand. Steve took a hit, keeping his eyes on Tony. 

“JARVIS told me you fell,” Tony said, his voice that over-controlled flat that meant he was holding back actual anger.

“I turned too fast, got lightheaded -” Steve took another puff of the inhaler “- then coughed so hard I slipped on my ass. It was entirely graceless but not panic-worthy, Tony. I’m fine. I swear.”

“You -” Tony took a deep breath, then rested a hand on each of Steve’s knees. “You are the most ornery patient I have ever - and I’m a doctor!”

Steve rolled his eyes, letting Tony lift him to his feet. “Not that kind of doctor.”

“Well, I don’t letter-drop for anything else. It has to be good for something.” Tony held Steve close, half carrying him as he hustled him back to the bedroom. Tony all but shoved him into the bed.

“Tony, I’m fine, stop freaking out.” Steve’s words were betrayed by a horrible wracking cough, shaking his frame and setting his head throbbing again.

“Steve. I swear to god.” Tony grit his teeth. “If you don’t get under those covers I will shove you under and sit on you for five to seven days or until symptoms no longer persist. Or you know what? Maybe for good, because worrying this much cannot possibly be good for my heart.” Tony sat down hard on the edge of the bed.

Steve reached out and furrowed fever-hot fingers through Tony’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Tony tipped his face down into his palms and breathed out between them, then he turned and crawled onto the bed, caging Steve in his arms, flattening out over him. And, fuck, it hurt but it was everything Steve needed in that moment. Steve whimpered, and Tony drew him even closer, burying his face in Steve’s hair. “No. I’m sorry. I hate that I got you sick.”

Tony rolled, bringing Steve with him, moving him in that easy way that never failed to make Steve’s brain short-circuit. He settled against the headboard, Steve curled on his chest, wrapped in Tony on all sides. Steve wriggled around until the pressure was off his lungs and hooked his ankle around Tony’s calf. He instantly felt three hundred times better.

“Oh shit, I forgot your soup,” Tony said suddenly.

“Don’t you fucking dare move,” Steve growled out, and Tony chuckled.

He fell asleep, and he stayed asleep. He woke up what must be many hours later. The windows were dark again and the TV was on, the sound too low to hear, with closed captions scrolling by. Tony was still under him, one arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders. He still felt crappy, but less feverish and  _ starving.  _

Tony noticed his movement and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Feeling any better?”

“Mhm. And hungry.”

“Okay, am I allowed to move now?” Tony’s voice was laced with humour

Steve considered it. “Only to get food.”

“Deal.”

In the end, Steve had to get up to use the bathroom anyway, and once he was up, he decided to stay up for a while. He made his way into the living room, pulled on the hoodie he’d been aiming for earlier, and settled into an armchair facing the long bank of windows. He’d sketched the skyline so many times by now he was pretty sure he could do it blind, but it never ceased to amaze him. Tony returned with the rest of his own takeout lunch - salmon and rice, and set it in Steve’s lap before shoving into the chair next to him, wriggling obnoxiously until Steve was settled in his lap, food in hand. 

Steve ate slowly, hesitant in case his stomach changed its mind about not participating in this particular illness. While he ate, Tony pressed his nose into Steve’s hair and breathed deeply. Steve could sense his tension. “You okay?” his voice came out a hoarse croak.

“I -” He paused, hummed. “You’re going to mock.”

Steve swallowed a mouthful of dijon salmon. “That’s pretty par for the course though, isn’t it?”

“Fair enough.” Tony’s hand curled up around Steve side and slid under the hoodie, resting on his hip possessively. “You scared the crap out of me today.”

Steve sighed. “I slipped, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know.” Tony’s voice had gone soft and careful, and Steve sunk back against his chest, wordlessly encouraging him to go on. He could sense the undercurrent of something there. “This is new for me. I’ve never -” Tony cut off with a frustrated huff. “I fly a tin can into battles with aliens and monsters and gods, and the thing that scares me the most is the thought of you.”

“The thought of me what?”

“Just - you!” Tony threw the hand that wasn’t holding Steve’s waist in the air and let it fall on the arm of the chair with a thud. “You could get hit by a car, or have an asthma attack without your inhaler, or slip and fall when you have a 102 degree fever and hit your head. And I wasn’t there.”

“You can’t -”

“I know. I know. I’m not trying to - I know I can’t always be there. I’m just saying, that you are a very stressful person to be in love with.”

Steve stared with sudden disinterest at his plate of fish, humiliation curling around in his belly and squashing his appetite. “Sorry,” his voice was barely there. “I know I’m… weak. I wish I wasn’t so worrying.”

Tony’s hand clenched. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s cause you’re a thrill-seeking, stubborn, self-sustaining little shit, that’s why. Can’t just stay in bed when you’re sick, can’t refrain from punching the asshole who gropes the girl’s ass behind you in line at the movie theatre, can’t let me design an JARVIS-controlled inhaler helmet to wear when you’re out. It’s awful.”

“In my defense,” Steve said, waving his fork for emphasis, “that girl was really grateful.”

“You had two black eyes.”

“Worth it.”

“I feel like we’re both making my point here.” 

Steve rewound the conversation. “Perhaps. I’m not at my best.” He snuggled down into Tony’s arms, setting the empty plate aside. He pouted and fluttered his eyelashes, peering up at Tony through them. “I have a 102 degree fever, you know.”

“Oh, shut up.” Tony tugged Steve even closer, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him in tight. Steve rested his head against Tony’s chest, the hood of his sweater up over his ears, and let his eyes fall shut to the _thump thump_ of Tony’s heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot, but make it hot by striking.” - Various_

By the time Steve had reduced his kleenex habit down to one pack a day, things were in dire straights with Tony’s projects. Steve shooed him downstairs once JARVIS had declared that his vitals were nearly back to normal, and, combined with the pressure of several heated phone calls from Pepper, Tony succumbed. 

Steve was feeling well enough to release his caretaker, but not quite up to coughing all over his commission, besides, being in the studio would almost certainly distract Tony “The Hair Trigger” Stark in his attached workshop, reacting to every sneeze as if Steve had called his name in deep distress, so he wandered the tower instead. He took the elevator down a few floors to what Clint had dubbed “Avengersland,” several floors of living spaces, common rooms and workout areas for the other members of the team. It was weird enough falling in love with one of the richest men in the world and moving into his decadent home from a dingy, overcrowded Brooklyn apartment, but only a few weeks later, finding yourself host to an eclectic collection of newly-minted superheroes was a lot to adjust to. But Steve found that over the last few months he’d stopped thinking of them as Black Widow and Hulk and Thor, and started seeing them as his friends, Nat, Bruce, and “dear god, for the hundredth time, put me down.”

Clint hadn’t been around as much as the others, citing a need for “sun, sand, and a shitton of alcohol” after his run-in with Loki, but the few times he had stayed the night at the tower, Steve had liked him.

Steve settled on the couch with his sketchbook, a blanket over his feet where they were pulled up on the cushions, and a mug of tea. His throat still ached from all the coughing but a hive’s-worth of honey was helping. 

“Feeling better?”

Steve jumped and turned around to see Natasha standing right beside him, leaning with one hand braced on the back of the couch.

“Much. But my ears are still blocked so stop creeping up on me.”

Nat grinned. “You wouldn’t be able to hear me even if they weren’t.” She vaulted the couch easily and settled on the ends of Steve’s feet, rubbing his calves lightly with her hands. Then she frowned and reached out with one hand to grab Steve’s chin. She shifted his head to the side, back and forth to catch the light. “Tony notice that one?”

Steve batted her hand away. The bruise had already been healed enough by the time Tony had come home that he hadn’t noticed, but Nat never missed anything, not even the barely-there, blue cast of an almost healed black eye. “No.”

“You need to learn to dodge better, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled. “Bucky always says I need to learn to run faster.”

“Like that’s ever going to happen.” Nat picked up the remote and switched on the TV. “When you’re better, we’re going to the gym.”

**

Steve hadn’t intended on taking Natasha up on her offer, but in a few days, when he was feeling himself again and his painting was being ornery, he found himself texting her anyway. He wasn’t sure if it was curiosity, a genuine desire to learn to fight better, or sheer boredom that pushed him to it.

_ S: Gym? _

_ N: Ten minutes. _

Ten minutes later, Steve pushed into the impressive Avengers’ gym, feeling a twist of nervousness curl through his stomach. He wasn’t sure what Natasha intended to do with him - his fighting style was mostly: look confident and stand between the bully and the victim. He was pretty good at  _ being  _ a punching bag, but he had no idea what to do if presented with one. 

Natasha was alone on the mats, however, no punching bags in sight. She sat cross-legged on the floor in stretchy, black clothes. Her socked feet poked out of hot pink knitted leg warmers. Steve sat across from her, eyeing her legs and chuckling. “Didn’t know there was a dress code.”

“Clint’s therapist made him take up a ‘hobby of creation,’” she said with a smirk. “I think he’s doing it on purpose to torture me.”

Steve didn’t point out that she didn’t have to wear them, especially when Clint wasn’t even here, but he did smile down at his hands, folded in his lap. Nat started with stretching and warmups then started to show Steve a proper stance, how to balance himself and use his meagre weight to his best advantage.

She sparred with him lightly, showing him his openings but only flicking him with her fingers every time she would have got a shot in. By the time an hour had passed, Steve was half-laughing, half-whining with pain every time she snapped her finger against his side.

“Fuck, Nat,” he complained, dancing out of her way and rubbing his hand over his ribs. “You keep hitting the same spot.”

“You keep leaving the same spot open,” she replied with a feline grin. 

Steve was about to snap back when his phone alarm went off, reminding him that he was Tony’s date to a charity gala tonight, and he only had half an hour to get ready. “Shoot, I gotta go. Thanks though.”

“Anytime,  _ цыпленок.” _

Steve scrambled into the shower, shedding sweaty clothes all over the apartment. He was halfway through shampooing his hair when the door opened.

“You’d better be alone in here,” Tony’s voice wafted through the shower doors. “The breadcrumb trail of clothes was a little suggestive.”

Steve snorted and tipped his head under the spray. “I forgot about tonight. I was sparring with Nat. It was an emergency maneuver.”

Tony’s face appeared around the glass door. He raked his eyes over Steve, and Steve felt a rush of blood respond to the attention. “You were all sweaty and I missed it?”

“I’m sure JARVIS has video.” Steve fluttered his eyelashes innocently and grinned at Tony.

“Tease.”

Tony reached for him, but Steve backed out of the way. “Don’t you dare. We’re going to be late.”

“Yes. That’s the plan.” Tony bit his lip and swiped again, getting his sleeve wet. Steve smacked his hand with the shampoo bottle.

“Get out of here. Insatiable, I swear to god.”

Tony’s laughter drifted out of the bathroom, and Steve heard the closet creak open.

It was almost impossible to get ready. Tony kept pawing and petting, tugging at Steve’s clothes and unbuttoning everything he managed to get done up. When Tony got like this, it usually wasn't long before Steve found himself pressed up against the nearest hard surface, begging to be touched, but Tony was holding back, and that only wound Steve tighter. These charity galas always made Tony handsy and possessive, liking the way Steve looked in a tux and not liking any attention Steve garnered from the other party-goers. It made his head spin to have that effect on someone, to be the object of Tony’s overwhelming attention.

Steve finally got fully dressed, batting Tony’s hand away every time he pressed closer, then filled his pockets with phone, keys, wallet, and inhaler, and took Tony by the hand.

As the limo pulled up outside the event hall, Steve took a steadying breath. Tony turned to him, concern robbing his smile. “You okay? We don’t have to go if you don’t want to go. We can turn right around and watch Grey’s Anatomy in our jammies.”

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I _ breathed, _ Tony.”

“Yeah, but it was like a ‘psych myself up’ kind of breathing. Like you had to, you know, find the strength to face some horrible thing.”

Steve reached across the seat and took Tony’s hand in his. “Not horrible. Just need a little pep talk for the paparazzi out front.”

Tony tugged until Steve slid across the seat to press against him. “I can give you a little pep.” He curled over Steve, pressing him back into the seat and breathing hot air against his neck.

Steve laughed and shoved at Tony’s chest. “We’re blocking the entrance, Tony. We have to go.”

Tony sighed, but let Steve urge him out of the car. He took Steve’s hand in his, put on his game face, and dove out into the sea of flashing cameras. Steve let himself be tucked into the crook of Tony’s arm, smiling at the photographers, but not letting himself be separated from Tony, ignoring the questions they threw his way. They made it up the red carpet and through the doors into the party.

There was the inevitable early rush as people clamoured to talk to Tony Stark. Tony kept Steve tucked under his arm, steering him through the crowd with ease. Steve smiled and shook hands and planning two more large-scale pieces in his head while he wafted about as arm candy. Tony kept him entertained by whispering gossip about the party goers in his ear and pressing drinks in his hand whenever his was empty.

“People are going to think I’m trying to get you drunk,” Tony said with a leer as he traded out Steve’s empty glass for a full one yet again. Steve rubbed the split lime slice around the rim then flicked his eyes up to meet Tony’s.

“Little do they know, it’s entirely the opposite.”

Tony put a hand to his chest in mock-offense. “But what about my virtue?”

“That was forfeit a long time ago,” Steve said, laughing.

“How true.” Tony leaned back against the bar and gazed around at the party. “Left that behind at a hotel room in Boston after Homecoming.”

“Did you check the lost and found?”

Tony shot him a smirk and spun around so he was pressing Steve against the bar top. “I did, actually. Asked the girl behind the front desk to help me look, but we just… couldn’t… find it.”

Tony’s eyes fell to Steve’s lips, and Steve bit the bottom one, then shook his head and shoved at Tony’s chest before he could dive in for what would absolutely not be an event-appropriate kiss. “Keep it in your pants, old man.” Even as he stopped him, Steve thrilled at the knowledge that Tony would do it - he would claim Steve’s mouth, filthy and wild, in front of all these people. Steve loved it when Tony got like this, possessive and a little jealous in a way that made Steve feel like the centre of his world.

Tony’s eyes twinkled, but he didn’t reply, beyond sliding his arm around Steve’s back. While Steve was still working his way through his fresh drink, Tony was dragged off to meet a group of big investors from China. Steve hung back, feeling the inevitable party-fatigue set in. He wasn’t sick at all anymore, but he was still low on sleep, and he took the chance to hover in a dark corner, taking a breath and zoning out for a while.  

The party hummed around him. What an intense twist his life had taken over the last year. From a starving, Brooklyn art student to hanging off Tony Stark’s arm at charity galas in a suit that cost more than his first semester’s tuition. If someone had told him a year ago that he would end up here, he would have laughed in their face and said, “Not if I can fucking help it.” But now that he was here… He sighed happily, watching Tony’s hair bounce through the crowd. Now, he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Steve frowned down at his apparently empty drink only to have a full one appear in his line of sight. He looked up at an overdressed, blonde man with sunken cheeks and a fake-looking smile. The smell of cologne was overwhelming, and Steve tried his best not to cough.

“You looked like you could use a refill,” the man said.

Steve eyed it. There was something slimy and unpleasant about the man’s voice, and he was standing too close. Steve tried to subtly scan the party for Tony. 

“Uh, thanks, but I’d better switch to water.” 

The man shrugged and set the drink aside. “Aldrich Killian.” He extended his hand, leaning in a little. Steve leaned back but took his hand. The man’s grip was overtight, and he held on just a hair too long.

“Steve Rogers.”

“I saw you on Tony Stark’s arm earlier.”

“Yes.” Every one of Steve’s alarm bells was going off.

“Good for you.” Killian tipped his glass towards Steve, and it felt disgustingly like a high five. “He must be a - uh -  _ nice  _ friend to have.”

Steve could feel his lip curling up into a sneer, but before he could snap out something that would likely get him kicked out of the party, a heavy arm settled over Steve’s shoulders, and he breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. 

Killian looked up in surprise. “Tony!” Tony made a vague noise of acknowledgement, his hand curling around Steve’s shoulder and tugging him close. He slipped a fresh gin and tonic into Steve’s hand and dropped the empty one on a tray that was passing by. “I was just telling your friend that he must have a very… big brain to have caught your interest.”

“Uh yeah, something like that,” Tony said distractedly. He cast an eye around the party, then brought it back to land, full-focus on Killian. His eyes narrowed as he took the other man in. “So, Killian, how’s your thing? What was it? SPAM? HAM?”

“AIM,” Killian replied through clenched teeth.

“Right, that one. Still struggling to get grant money? Yeah, I know that feeling. Or I would, you know, if I needed it. And also if my inventions weren’t so outrageously amazing that they would be fully funded instantly. But yeah, I feel your pain, buddy. Having a good party?”

Steve watched as Killian’s body language transformed. He shifted back, angling his body away from Tony, fiddling with the drink in his hand. “It’s alright. Some of the guest list leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Have you found that? I haven’t. I was just having a lovely conversation with Senator Parks. Actually, Steve, darling, I’d love for you meet her. You met Steve, right, Killian?” Tony gestured between them. “My partner.” Steve smiled into his drink. Tony’s hand skated down his side, then started to tug him away. “Anyhow, nice to see you again. Good luck with that brain… fetish… issue… thing you have. Enjoy the party.” Tony swanned off, Steve in tow. They made their way towards the dance floor, then Tony turned sharply to the right and drove Steve into the back hall by the kitchens. They stumbled into a dark closet full of brooms and bussing carts. Tony whisked Steve’s drink out of his hand then crowded him up against the wall. “Did he touch you?”

Tony hands were all over Steve, pawing, petting exploring.”No,’ Steve gasped. “Only you get to.”

“Did he pat your shoulder?” Tony all but growled, his chest vibrating where it pressed against Steve’s. “Touch your hand...?”

“He shook my hand.” Steve ground his hips forward, straddling Tony’s thigh and rutting against it. Tony wound his fingers in between Steve’s and squeezed, pressing him hard enough against the wall that he almost lost his footing. Steve had gone from party-bored to Tony-hard in seconds, the air in the closet they’d commandeered hot and heady. “Tony…” Steve whined, desperate for more contact than the unrelenting wall of Tony’s body.

“I got you,” Tony hummed in Steve’s ear, then spun him around so he faced the wall. Steve moaned and braced his hands against the drywall, going up on his tiptoes as he ground backwards against Tony’s crotch. He rested his forehead on his arm, breathing as evenly as he could. Tony’s hands scrabbled at his pants, and Steve groaned and batted them away, popping his button and shoving his pants and boxers down over his thighs. Tony pulled Steve’s shirt out of the way, holding it up with one hand and grinding forward. 

Tony’s touch disappeared, and Steve whined, rutting against the wall just to get some kind of friction on his desperate cock. Tony’s hand reappeared, wrapping around Steve’s hip and tugging it back until Steve was bent over, arms braced against the wall, head locked between them. The fingers of Tony’s other hand pressed to Steve’s ass, sliding down and circling the edge of his hole. Steve let his breath out in a long, high-pitched moan, pressing backwards and arching up, looking for more contact. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this out of control.

“Tony, please, god, if you don’t fuck me now I’m going to lose my mind.”

Two of Tony’s fingers pressed inside, somehow slicked, and Steve gasped and thrust back, drawing them in deeper. Tony pressed against the side of his hip, grinding his erection against Steve’s ass while he worked him open roughly. “You like that? Anyone could walk in here, you know.”

“That’s what you want,” Steve choked out as Tony’s fingers found his prostate and tortured it relentlessly. “You want everyone to know I’m yours.”

Tony’s lips pressed against Steve’s ear. “Fuck yeah I do.”

“I am.” Tony’s fingers pressed deeper, rocking in and out of Steve’s body, twisting and stretching, but it wasn’t enough. “I am yours.”

The fingers disappeared, Steve heard Tony’s belt clink, and then he folded over Steve’s back, hot breath panting against the back of Steve’s neck. Every huff of air sent a shiver down Steve’s back, and when the head of Tony’s cock pressed against Steve’s hole he broke into full-on shudders. “Oh my god.”

Tony slid in slowly, letting Steve adjust after the rushed foreplay. Steve breathed carefully, willing his body to relax and let Tony in. He felt deliciously full already and the last thing he wanted was Tony to stop to prep him more. Steve moaned and there was a crash from outside the closet followed by human voices. Tony’s hand snapped around Steve’s mouth, muffling his unstoppable whimpers and cries. Steve panted hard against Tony’s hand, the firm grip over his face and on his hip making him feel dizzy and even more desperate than he already was. 

Tony finally bottomed out, his hips pressed against Steve’s ass, his breathing controlled but choppy. He hung there for a moment, still and quiet, waiting until the voices receded. When they were gone he started to move. The hand over Steve’s mouth relaxed as Tony pulled back then slid inside again, stretching Steve wide and filling him impossibly full. Two fingers from the hand on his mouth slipped between Steve’s lips and he sucked them eagerly. Tony must have squeezed a lime into his drink earlier because they tasted like tart citrus and Tony’s salty skin.

“I was watching you from the bar,” Tony huffed against Steve’s ear. Steve slid his tongue along the length of Tony’s fingers in response. Tony’s hips kicked forward harder now, barely brushing Steve’s prostate in a cruel tease of angles that Steve knew was on purpose. “I was watching everyone’s eyes on you, wanting you, and I couldn’t wait for this, to have you on my cock again.”

Fuck, he had planned this - of course he had. Steve moaned around Tony’s fingers, cutting off as Tony’s hand clenched around his jaw. Tony used the hand hooked around Steve’s hips to pull him back on his cock with every thrust, no doubt leaving a smear of lube on his pants that Steve would blush at trying to hide for the rest of the night. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot for me, baby.” Tony’s voice had taken on the waver that meant he was close, and Steve sucked his fingers harder, rocking his head back and forth with the rhythm of Tony’s thrusts and swirling his tongue around the tips whenever he pulled back. Tony cursed, his hands clenching tight, then he tugged Steve hard to him. “Fuck, I’m coming -” he choked out.

Steve arched back into it, going high on his toes and bracing his arms so Tony could fill him as deeply as possible. Tony groaned, then his fingers disappeared from Steve’s mouth and he was driving him forward, pressing him flat against the wall without pulling free. “I wish I could leave you like this through the party,” Tony whispered, and Steve shivered. “Plug you up or something so could feel me inside you all night. Then no matter who looked at you tonight you’d be mine.”

_ “Yes,” _ Steve hissed.

“You like that, sweetheart? Full and waiting for my cock again?” Tony hummed in pleasure and brought his hand around to slide into the front Steve’s pants, cupping his balls, his thumb brushing Steve’s length. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

Steve whimpered at the contact, but shook his head. His hand wound round Tony’s wrist, stilling him. “I -” He swallowed hard, trying to find his breath again. “I want you to leave me like this. Yours. Later, when we get home -”

“Jesus Christ.” Tony’s hand twitched in his grip. “You’re killing me, Rogers.”

Tony’s had slipped away, and Steve grit his teeth together to stop the whine that threatened to leak out. He pressed his forehead against the wall and breathed through his teeth a few times, hearing Tony putting himself back together behind him. Steve tucked himself into his pants and buttoned up his jacket, trusting the long panels to cover the bulge. He wouldn’t stay hard through the whole party, but goddamn was he going to be ready to go at the end. Steve stepped away from the wall and his breath caught as he felt Tony’s come leak out of his fucked out hole. He pressed a hand to his chest and groaned.

Tony gathered him into his arms. “You going to be okay? I can take care of you now.”

“No, I - I want this. But I’m barely going to be able to string a sentence together.” Steve resisted the urge to grind up against Tony’s thigh.

“That’s alright, I got you, babe.” Tony pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head then tipped his chin up to kiss him properly.

They slipped back into the party, and Steve’s prediction about his ability to focus was correct. Every time he moved he felt the ghost of Tony’s cock filling him up, the drip of Tony’s come down his thighs, and every time Tony touched him his cock jumped back to attention. The night passed in a blur of people Steve wouldn’t remember and Tony’s arm clamped firmly around his waist.

By the time Tony hustled Steve into the back of the town car, Steve was nearly out of his mind with need. His cock ached, instantly hard again. His skin felt hot and itchy, and he hadn’t pulled a full breath in hours. Tony pressed Steve against the inside of the car door, holding onto the door handle so he could rise up and drive his knee between Steve’s legs, giving him something to rut against. Tony was whispering filthy things in Steve’s ear but he couldn’t make out the words. He was so wild by the time they reached the tower, Tony didn’t even try to make him walk, scooping him up in his arms and carrying him into the elevator. 

They made it as far as their living room before Steve pulled Tony down, ripping his own clothes off. Tony spread him out on the floor, naked, while he only undid his own pants and pulled his cock out. Steve writhed on the living room rug while Tony gazed down at him and stroked his own cock. The arc reactor glowed blue through Tony’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and Steve itched to reach out and touch it, but if he moved his hands, the only place they’d be going was his throbbing, painful cock.

Tony whispered a litany of filthy things, falling forward to kneel over Steve, one hand braced by Steve’s head. His hand pumped furiously then he gasped and came, shooting over Steve’s thighs and ass. He reached out immediately and scraped his fingers through the mess then pushed them in Steve’s hole without warning.

Steve cried out and clenched down over Tony’s fingers, his cock jerking and leaking precome over his belly. Tony wriggled down, his come-covered fingers buried deep in Steve ass and sucked Steve’s cock down until it hit the back of his throat.

“Oh god, oh god, Tony, I’m going to die, shit, don’t stop, fuck like that, oh my god, I can feel you everywhere, I - I -” Steve broke off into a high-pitched whine. Tony didn’t work him up slowly, he just sucked Steve down over and over, his nose hitting his belly as he swallowed around the head of his cock. Steve was so far gone already that it took almost no time at all before the pleasure overwhelmed him and he cried out, painting the back of Tony’s throat with hot come.

Tony swallowed, then pulled back, sliding his tongue around the head and sucking lightly as he released Steve, making him twitch and gasp. He grinned down at him. “That -” he pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips. “- was the best party I’ve ever been to.”

**

Steve paused in his brush strokes as his back pocket started vibrating. “Shit.” He looked helplessly at his paint-covered hands. He never understood how some people in his class managed to keep the paint on the brush and the canvas. Steve liked to get his hands in it and it never ended well for his clothes. 

“Hey babe, do you know where the -?”

“Tony!” Steve interrupted. “Can you get my phone while I clean up? I’m waiting for a call from the gallery.”

Tony rooted around in Steve’s pocket, replacing the phone with his free hand while he swiped to answer. “Hello?”

Steve squeaked as Tony’s hand continued exploring the back pocket of his baggy painting jeans, gripping and groping even as he tried to escape to the bathroom to wash up. 

“No, he can’t come to the phone right now, can I take a message?” Tony wriggled his eyebrows at Steve and moved to slide his hand under his shirt instead but Steve saw his chance for escape and darted away, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. He dumped his supplies in the sink and started working the paint off his arms, watching it swoosh down the drain in a dance of pretty colours. He could hear the low murmur of Tony’s voice on the phone outside the door and something about that warmed his heart. Tony didn’t even answer his own phone half the time, but he happily took messages for Steve. It was sweet.

The door cracked open, and Tony’s face appeared. His forehead was twisted with concern and his mouth had fallen from a teasing smile to an ominous frown. “I think you should take this, love,” he said, too gently.

The warmth in Steve’s chest was replaced with ice water. Was the gallery cancelling his show? Had something happened to Peggy? He rinsed off as quickly as he could, wiping his still patchily coloured hands on a huge wad of paper towels before taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Steven Rogers?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“This is Colonel Wright.”

Steve’s heart stopped. Bucky. He wasn’t aware he was sinking to the floor until Tony’s strong arms hooked around his waist and held him up. He fisted a hand in the front of Tony’s shirt to hold himself up. 

“Sergeant James Barnes has you listed as his next of kin. I’m calling to inform you that there was an incident involving his unit, and Sergeant Barnes is currently missing in action.”

Steve listened, trying to focus on the words while his mind buzzed with terrifying white noise. 

The line disconnected, but Steve still held the phone to his ear until Tony’s hand gently took it away. “What happened?” Tony took Steve’s face between his hands. “Is it Bucky?”

Steve stared at the phone in Tony’s hand. “He’s… missing.”

“He’s missing?”

“There was an… incident. A - a land mine. They can’t find him. They think maybe he was taken. They don’t know if - if -” Steve cut off, unable to continue, and Tony tugged him close against his chest, wrapping his arms tight around Steve’s waist. Steve buried his face in Tony’s shirt and breathed in the smell of Tony and laundry soap and the coconut shampoo they both used. Steve couldn’t summon fear or pain in the face of an overwhelming numbness that had clamped down over him, so he just hid in Tony’s close hold and focused on remembering how to breathe.

Eventually, he pulled back, and Tony released him. “I need to…” Steve gestured vaguely to the sink where his brushes were rapidly drying out. Tony followed his gaze.

“Alright. I have a phone call to make. I’ll be right out here, okay?”

Steve nodded. He focused on the familiar task of washing his supplies and scraping the half-dried paint out from under his fingernails. The water was too hot but he couldn’t find the energy to adjust the taps, focused entirely on swirling the brushes around in his hand. He squeezed out the water and reshaped each brush, laying them on a rack to dry. It was nice having a setup here just for his painting cleanup, he thought idly, looking around the room. It was always a huge pain in his old shared apartment, washing them in the bathroom or in the kitchen in an emergency, fighting his artist roommates for time at the sink.

It hadn’t been like that, living with Bucky. He joked about Steve’s “arty stuff” being everywhere but he never really minded. Steve had taught him how to clean the brushes - he’d only had a few back then - and Bucky had grumbled that he’d never need to know that shit but then that one time Steve had been struck with an asthma attack and had to go to bed halfway through painting, he’d woken up to them all clean and tidy, lined up on the kitchen counter.

And now Bucky was missing. Probably dead. And Steve would never see him again.

A shout from outside the door broke Steve out of his trance, and he walked across the studio to the workshop, following the noise. Tony was on his phone, facing the windows, one hand clenched on his desk so hard the knuckles were white.

“I can  _ help,  _ Rhodey,” he hissed. “If not with the -” He paused. “I  _ know,  _ but I can’t just sit here and -” Tony huffed out a sharp breath of frustration. “No, I know. I know. I  _ know.  _ Okay, fine. But if you - Yes. Alright. Bye.”

Tony tossed his phone aside and pinched the bridge of his nose then startled and turned, seeing Steve. “Hey.” He opened his arms, and Steve padded over to tip into them. Tony sat back in his chair, drawing Steve into his lap. He pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “I just spoke to Rhodey. I offered to help, but he assures me that in this region, Iron Man showing up would be more of a hindrance and that it could put Bucky in danger. He wasn’t allowed to say much, but it sounds like they’re pretty sure he’s been taken, and they know where.”

Steve twisted the hem of Tony’s shirt between his fingers.

“Steve.” He tipped his chin up and met Tony’s eyes. “They’re going to do everything they can to get him back. And if there’s anything I can do, they know they can call me.”

Steve nodded. Tony offered several distractions, but none of them appealed. In the end, Steve chose to settle on Tony’s lap while he worked, watching him twist and turn the wireframe blueprints of the next suit mark. Steve kept his phone clenched tight between his palms, startling every time an email or text came in. But two hours passed and they heard nothing about Bucky.

Steve was starting to consider asking if there was someone else they could call when there was a clang on the landing pad outside, and JARVIS announced, “Colonel Rhodes is here, Sir.”

Steve felt all the blood drain out of his face, and his heart skittered to a gasping stop. Tony grabbed him by the arms. “No, no, honey. I asked him to come when he could. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Steve sucked in a harsh breath and tipped his face into his hands. He thought - they send someone, don’t they? Tony left Steve on the couch to meet Rhodey. They spoke soft and low for a second then Rhodey came over to shake Steve’s hand. “No news yet,” he said by way of a greeting, and Steve was grateful not to have to ask. “But I’ll know the second they do.”

“Thank you.”

Rhodey talked, describing SOP for these kinds of things, explaining what they would do in all circumstances and what Steve could expect as next of kin. He wasn’t retaining much of the information, but it was soothing to listen to, and Rhodey was a steadying presence. Tony excused himself at one point to take a call, leaning against the doorway at the other end of the room.

Rhodey reached out and gave Steve’s knee a squeeze. “I know how awful this part is.”

Steve glanced at him and saw he was watching Tony too. It had been three months for him, fuck; Steve didn’t think he could handle that. As much as he wished he’d met Tony earlier, given them more time together, he didn’t know if he would have been able to survive losing him like that. “How did you do it?”

Rhodey sighed. “Well, first of all, I knew there was no chance Tony fucking Stark wasn’t going to go down in some utterly spectacular way - a roadside bomb wasn’t flash enough for him - so I knew he had to be okay. And I was working it, the whole time. I didn’t give up, I was going to find him. Did find him.”

Steve watched Rhodey watch Tony, his eyes firmly fixed on Tony’s back. “Thank you.”

Rhodey’s eyes snapped to his, and he smiled. Steve honestly wasn’t sure if he was thanking Rhodey for being here, for talking him through it, or for bringing Tony back. All of it, really. Rhodey opened his mouth to say something else when his phone rang. He stood to answer it, listening to the voice on the other end and replying in clipped affirmatives.

“It is?” he asked, then nodded. He turned to Steve and gave him a nod. He mouthed, ‘They have him. Alive,” and Steve thought he might pass out. Tony squeezed his shoulder then disappeared into the elevator and for a moment everything spun. He felt the urge to follow Tony, but he needed to stay and hear Rhodey’s report. It was another minute before Rhodey hung up the phone. He turned to Steve immediately.

“He’s been injured, badly, but they say he’s stable. They’re moving him to medical in Germany. The rescue op went without a hitch, everyone made it out.” Rhodey squeezed Steve’s shoulder, then rubbed gently. “You alright?”

Steve honestly wasn’t sure if he was. “Yeah, I need -” He was cut off by the elevator opening again, and Tony appeared with two suitcases, his phone pressed to his ear. 

“Whatever we did last time,” he said into the phone, beckoning Steve over with one hand. “Yeah, sure, that’s fine. Okay. Okay. Bye.” He looked over Steve’s shoulder and caught Rhodey’s eye. Something passed between them, and Rhodey headed back to the landing pad, where his armour stood waiting. “You ready to go?”

“What?”

“We’re going to Germany, babe. Right? JARIVS said he’s in Berlin, yes? That’s what you want?”

“I - uh - yes, of course. Can we… just leave?”

“Of course.” Tony urged him into the elevator. “It’s all sorted. You need anything I wouldn't have packed?”

Steve tried to focus, to think, but nothing came to mind. “No. If you’ve got my meds, my clothes, my sketchbook…” He patted his pockets and confirmed his wallet and phone. “Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Science is about knowing; engineering is about doing.” - Henry Petroski_

The plane ride was a blur of text messages and phone calls. Bucky was in transport too, for the first half of the ride, and then there was a period with no updates while the doctors checked him out. By the time they landed, Steve knew he had been conscious at least twice, was stable, but his left arm was so badly damaged they didn’t think they’d be able to save it.

Knowing he was alive so completely overwhelmed any grief about his injuries that it wasn’t until Steve stepped in the hospital room and saw his friend, hooked up to monitors, covered in gauze, his mangled left arm nothing but a cloud of fluffy white that it really hit him.

Bucky was coming home, and he was coming home broken.

Steve sunk into a chair by his bed, his stomach twisting painfully, so full of emotion he couldn’t pick one out of the swirling tornado in his chest. Tony’s hand landed on his shoulder, a gentle grounding, and Steve reached across his chest to wind their fingers together. Bucky was asleep and would stay asleep. They’d given him enough meds to keep him under for fear that any movement would make his arm even worse.

Tony bent over and pressed his lips behind Steve’s ear. “Do you want a minute? Or do you want me to stay?”

Steve opened his mouth to say, “Stay,” then realized he actually did want some time alone with Bucky. As wonderful as Tony had been in this, he needed a breath in private. “Just a minute.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in the lobby. Tell me if you need anything.” 

Steve nodded, and Tony slipped out. The monitors around Bucky were beeping softly, but he didn’t know what any of it meant - if it was good or not. He should have asked Tony to explain some of it before he left. He would definitely know. Steve pushed out of the chair and stood in front of the large screen that had Bucky’s heart rate flashing on it. He knew that one. He pressed his finger against the jagged line. Bucky was alive.

The man in the bed hardly looked like him - more tape than face visible, a tube strapped over his mouth. He had a burn on the side of his face that had singed his hair away. Steve wished he would open his eyes, even though he knew that would be awful for Bucky, but that was where Bucky was, where he lived, in his dancing blue eyes and the wink he’d shoot Steve after a particularly bad joke. He was alive, but was he still Bucky?

Steve was immediately crushed by guilt over the thought, sinking back into his chair. It didn’t matter. Bucky was still his best friend. No matter what. He watched Bucky sleep, watching the monitors blink, and tried not to think about anything beyond: Bucky was alive.

One of the monitors beeped more loudly, startling him out of his daze. He reached out and was just about to rest his hand on Bucky’s uncovered right when the door opened and the doctor came in. He poked the buttons on the monitor, quieting the beeping, and explained in perfect English that Bucky was going to need surgery, that he would lose the left arm for sure and need lots of physio and recovery, and that they’d keep him in under until after the surgery was over.

“Now is a good time to get some rest, Mr. Rogers. He’ll need you tomorrow, and every day after. Nothing you can do today.”

Steve nodded and this time did take Bucky’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze before promising to be back when he woke up. When he stood, he realized he must have been sitting in the same position for a long time because his left leg was completely asleep. He hissed as he put weight on it, pinprick sensation vibrating through it. He limped out into the hall, trying to shake feeling back into his numb leg, turned the corner, and stopped. Tony had commandeered one entire section of the - albeit otherwise empty - waiting room. He had shifted the chairs around to form a sort of half-ring around him, like his desk at home. He had two laptops and a tablet set up on the chairs and was scribbling furiously on a second tablet in his lap while muttering to himself. There were napkins with ink all over them spread out across the makeshift workspace. 

“You’re failing to take into account any muscular atrophy and regeneration,” he grumbled at the screen, then rolled his eyes at whatever JARVIS said into his ear in response. 

Steve shuffled across the carpet, finally regaining control of his leg. He leaned over one of the chair backs. “I didn’t realize you had so much work to do,” Steve said, frowning down at the diagrams and blueprints. He should have sent Tony home to work, or come to Germany on his own.

“Hmm? Hey, baby.” Tony looked around him. “This isn’t work. This is a… side project.” 

Steve reached out and turned one of the napkins around and it took shape. “Is that… an arm?”

Tony chuckled to himself. “Literally a side project. The left side. I -” He suddenly looked a bit nervous. “It’s fine if he doesn’t want it, but I had some ideas and I… couldn’t help myself.”

They both took in the total destruction Tony had wrought on the waiting room. “No kidding.” Steve looked back at the blueprint. It was beautiful - for all Tony claimed not to be an artist, his technical drawings were gorgeous enough to be in a gallery somewhere. Emotion flooded Steve, temporarily overwhelming him. “You’re going to make this? For Bucky?”

Tony nodded. “If he wants it.”

“That’s incredible...” Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from the plans. 

Eventually, Tony stood and reached over the laptops to catch Steve’s chin with his thumb. “You hungry?”

Steve shook himself free of the trance he’d been caught in and shook his head. “I mean, yes, I am. But the doctor said he’d be out for hours now and we should go back to the hotel and try and get some rest. I’d rather go to our room and order in than go out anywhere. Or suffer hospital food.”

“Alright.” Tony started packing up his equipment, somehow managing to fold everything into his briefcase. He tapped his earpiece. “J, find a restaurant nearby that either delivers or can be bribed into delivering. Order something we like.”

Tony hooked his arm around Steve’s shoulders and led him out of the hospital. They crossed the street to the hotel and made their way up to their room. Steve leaned against Tony’s side, dozing under his arm as the elevator carried them up 30 floors. Once inside, Steve immediately stripped down and stepped into the shower. While he dried off, he heard a knock, then voices, then the squeak of styrofoam. When he was sure the door was closed again, he stepped out naked, and Tony wolf whistled. He was sprawled on the bed surrounded by open food containers. Steve chuckled and stepped into a pair of boxers. The room was warm so he decided to air dry, climbing onto the bed and picking at a salad.

Tony shoved the container over to him. “You’re just going to eat all the cucumbers out of it anyway - commit.” He turned the TV on, frowning with interest at a German soap opera.

Steve laughed and set about doing just that, handing it back to Tony when it was just spinach and peppers. Tony got to work on the spinach, trading him for some pasta. It was comfortable and domestic and easy. Steve let thoughts of hospitals and physio and recovery time fade away, forcing his entire mind on eating, and figuring out if the woman with the scary hair was the main love interest’s mother or sister.

It wasn’t late - or maybe it was, he was jetlagged, he couldn’t tell - but Steve was yawning soon, and Tony cleared the food away so he could snuggle down until the covers. Tony typed out a few emails on his phone, then shed his clothes as well and pressed against Steve’s back. He drew him close with an arm around his stomach and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “You alright, love?”

Steve nodded, pulling Tony’s arm even tighter around his middle. “Thank you,” Steve said seriously.

“It was just a salad, babe, no need to get all worked up.” 

Steve laughed, then shifted his hips back again, trying to find more contact with Tony. His body responded, reminding him there was another method of stress relief they hadn’t explored yet. Steve shifted, rubbing his ass against Tony, and Tony’s hand snapped to his hip, gripping hard.

“Don’t start an engine you’re not up for taking around the block,” Tony hissed in his ear.

Steve hummed and ground back against Tony again, earning a gasp.

“You sure?” Tony asked, softer this time.

“Yeah,” Steve stroked his hand over his rapidly growing erection. “I want you. Please.” He wanted to forget for a while, sink into Tony’s touch and let the world fade away.

“Okay.” Tony pressed a kiss to the back of his head, then his heat disappeared. Steve could hear him rustling around in his bag, so he kicked his boxers off under the sheets and palmed himself softly, not enough to ramp anything up, just a promise of touch to come.

Tony pressed against him again, and this time Steve could feel the eager hardess of Tony’s cock against his ass. Tony’s arm snaked around Steve’s stomach, his fingers dancing over his skin, then sliding down to brush over his thigh.

“What do you want?” Tony whispered in Steve’s ear.

“Just…” Steve sighed and went limp in Tony’s arms, curled back against his chest. He wanted to be taken care of, but he didn’t know how to put it into words.

Tony hummed and stroked over his hip, fingertips brushing his cock. Somehow he seemed to understand. “Alright, I’ve got you.”

Tony’s other arm slid under Steve’s neck, then curled across his chest, palm flat, holding him tight. Tony’s chest was one long line of searing heat down Steve’s back and the hand petting his hip drifted back, around Steve’s ass and between his legs. Steve lifted his leg and hooked it over Tony’s thigh, sinking into the hold. Tony’s fingers, slick now, hooked under Steve’s leg and worked him open slowly, gently, as if they had all the time in the world, and Steve relaxed into it, letting his eyes fall shut, not worrying or thinking, just being.

Tony’s lips pressed against the back of Steve’s neck and he shivered, nerves jumping to attention, as Tony brushed light kisses along his hairline. As his fingers deepened and stretched, the kisses grew more intense, sucking Steve’s skin between his lips, then nipping, then kissing softly again. Steve gasped out little noises, twitching and shaking in Tony’s hold. Every hot press of Tony’s lips sent a jolt of pleasure down Steve’s spine, and every twist of his fingers sent one back up again. It wasn’t enough to get off, but he was painfully hard, pushed to squirming and writhing against the firm arm that crossed his chest. His body screamed for something, but he couldn’t even articulate what. Finally, “More,” he choked out, and Tony grabbed his hip, pulled him back and slid his cock inside him in one long, easy stride.

“Holy  _ fuck,”  _ Steve gasped out, breaking between each syllable. “Nuhh, it’s uhhn, fuck that’s good.”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Tony muttered, and Steve could feel the tickle of the words against his neck, the puff of warm air, and he arched back with a groan. Tony rocked inside him, slow and steady, but incredibly deep with every thrust, while his mouth continued to torture the back of Steve’s neck. Steve tipped his chin down and bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out every time the head of Tony’s cock brushed his prostate. 

Tony moved away, temporarily disrupting his pace, and Steve whimpered, but then he was back, his hand slicked up again and  _ holy fuck  _ wrapped around Steve’s cock. He couldn't help jolting forward into Tony’s firm grip, but as Tony slid his fist down, he pushed Steve’s hips back again, rocking Tony’s cock back in to the base.

Steve turned his face into the pillow and babbled incoherently. Tony had started drawing lines of wet kisses from Steve’s ear down along his shoulder and back again, hitting every pocket of nerves along the way each time. He was warm, wrapped in the blankets, and he didn’t have to move, or think, or decide anything, he just held on and let Tony take him apart, one tiny piece at a time. 

When he came, it was slow to build and slow to break, but it went on forever, in waves of pulsing pleasure that Tony fucked him through. Tony never detached his mouth from the back of Steve’s neck, and all-surrounding pleasure made everything go soft and hazy for a while. Steve let go, sinking into that feeling, until Tony gasped against his skin, tensed up, and pulled Steve back to him, panting through his orgasm, each breath hot and wet on Steve’s neck.

Tony didn’t pull out, holding Steve close against him and humming soothing noises into his ear. Steve almost sobbed with relief. Tony always knew what he needed most, and right now he needed to be held like this - so close - and not let go, not for anything. 

He didn’t sleep much, drifting in and out of consciousness every little while in a skittering unpleasant way that made the clock jump and skip and then halt for way too long. Tony eventually slipped free, as he fell asleep himself, but he never relaxed his hold on Steve, and Steve spent the entire night safe in the cage of Tony’s arms.

They got back to the hospital the next morning, just as Bucky was getting out of surgery. The nurse assured Steve that Bucky wouldn’t be awake for hours, but Steve had promised to be there when he woke up, so he plunked himself down in the chair by the bed with a styrofoam cup of terrible coffee and waited. Tony made him take one of the tablets he had brought, then set up shop in the waiting room again, assuring Steve that he would be wherever he needed him. But Steve found he’d rather wait in Bucky’s room alone, and it dawned on him over the next two hours of forced, quiet contemplation that part of it was that he wasn’t sure how to explain his new life to his old friend.

They had talked, of course, since Bucky had left, but neither of them was very good at keeping up with writing letters, and Bucky’s last stateside leave had been well over a year ago and just before Steve had met Tony. They’d always sort of assumed they would just fall back into their friendship as soon as Bucky came home. And every time he had, they had. 

But Bucky had left a Steve in art school, with three roommates and two shitty, fast food jobs, and he was coming back to a Steve who had graduated, lived in quite possibly the most famous building in New York, was dating quite possibly the most famous man in America, and casually sold his art whenever he wanted because everything in his life was suddenly being paid for.

It shouldn’t affect their friendship, and Steve was sure that Tony and Bucky would get along once they got to know each other, but it was a lot to tell, a lot to take in. He thought back to his last letter, months ago. He’d mentioned Tony, but in a passing “I have a date with a nice guy who bought my painting” kind of way, not “I’ve been sleeping with Iron Man for a few months.” Why hadn’t he told Bucky more about Tony?

He didn’t have time to answer the question - if it even had an answer - because Bucky chose that moment to start waking up. When his monitors went nuts, a nurse appeared, and it was a few minutes of standing in the back corner while they did tests and checked his cognitive function before Steve was able to step up to his bedside and finally say hello.

“Hey, pal.” Steve rested his fingers on Bucky’s wrist.

Bucky’s eyes took a moment to focus, but when they settled on Steve and his mind clicked on who was there, he grinned. “You look like shit, Stevie.” His voice was rough and abused, but unmistakably Bucky.

“Yeah? Well, I was up all night worrying about my best friend. Didn’t get my beauty sleep.”

Bucky blinked up at the ceiling. “What happened?”

Acid rolled through Steve’s stomach, unaided by three cups of oily, coffee-scented tar. “They didn’t tell me everything… but there was a bomb. It - uh - it got your arm, Buck. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to his left and stilled. His shoulder was encased in gauze but it was clear there was something missing. He was quiet for a moment, and Steve didn’t push, letting him process. Finally he sighed and tipped his head back onto the pillow. “Yeah, it felt like I’d lost weight.”

Steve laughed in sheer relief, then snapped his mouth shut over the sound. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Bucky caught sight of the text on his monitors. “Where are we?”

“Landstuhl, Germany. Emergency medical evac. You were unstable, they had to rush you here.”

“How’d you get to Germany, Stevie?”

Steve shifted where he stood. “As next of kin they would have helped me get over here, but… I’m kind of seeing someone right now, and he brought me. So we could get here faster.”

Bucky blinked twice and on the third his eyes didn’t open again. His mouth went slack for a moment as he drifted off, then less than a minute later, he snapped awake again. “Your boyfriend is here?” he slurred.

“Yeah. You’ll get to meet him soon, if you like.”

“Okay…” Bucky’s eyes closed again, and this time, they stayed closed. 

It was two days before Bucky was off the painkillers enough that he could really focus on what was going on. Tony had stayed back, letting Steve be alone with his friend. He popped in to bring food, or to urge Steve back to the hotel while Bucky slept, but Bucky didn’t meet him properly until the third day. Buck was sitting up this morning, finally eating something that wasn’t through an IV, and Steve was telling him about his last year at art school, carefully skirting the topic of Tony, unsure how to say, “Oh yeah, by the way, my boyfriend is a superhero.”

And then Tony walked in. 

Bucky looked up. “Oh shit,” he said. Gears whirred for a moment. “Stevie, when you say your boyfriend’s name is Tony…”

“Hi.” Tony waved from the doorway. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I was just talking to Dr. Bendel, and she says you can go stateside again, if you’re feeling up to it. Thought you’d prefer it if we all flew back together. I can call it in, get the plane fueled up?”

“Bucky, this is my boyfriend, Tony Stark. Tony, this is Bucky Barnes.”

Tony waggled his fingers in a wave, and Steve realized Tony was nervous. He hadn’t moved away from the door, leaning one shoulder on the frame in a way that looked casual, but Steve knew was a nervous tic of his. 

“Huh,” Bucky said, blinking. He looked at Steve again who shot him a smile that tried to be encouraging but felt uncertain. “Nice to meet you.” It felt like practiced courtesy more than actual interest, but Tony nodded, and some of the tension slipped out of his shoulders. 

Steve turned to Tony. “Plane sounds great, thanks.” He squeezed Bucky’s wrist lightly. “You’re ready to go home, right?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Tony shot them a salute and slipped out of the door again, pulling out his phone as he went. Steve braced himself.

“You’re dating  _ Iron Man?”  _

“Uh - yeah.”

“How the fuck did that happen?”

Steve half shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure himself. “He showed up at the gallery for one of the school shows. He bought Hero. I gave him my number. It all kinda… tumbled from there.” Steve grinned, remembering the early days, remembering dates and Tony dropping him off at his apartment, making out in the car.

“Whoa. Okay two things,” Bucky paused to take a sip from his water glass. “One - look at your fucking face, Stevie, you are so in love with that man, holy shit. Two - he bought the painting of himself, really? Also three - fuck you I can have a three, I got blown up, screw counting. Three -  _ he’s  _ the guy you said you met at a gallery and went on a date with? That was like a year and a half ago.”

“Yes, yes, and yes. I really do love him. He did buy the painting of himself - he kind of has this love hate relationship with mirrors.” Steve chuckled to himself. “And yes, we’ve been together for about eighteen months… and I’ve been living with him for a year.”

“You live with Tony Stark.”

“Yes.”

“In that tower in Manhattan with the superheroes in it? Or does he actually live somewhere else?”

“No, in the tower. It was kind of my idea that we fill it with superheros, actually.”

“Ha! You admit it!” Steve looked up and saw that Tony had appeared in the doorway again. “Twelve percent my ass, Rogers. Knew I’d catch you out on that someday. Only took a year.”

Steve rolled his eyes, then flicked them over towards Bucky. He was giving Tony a considering look. “So, uh, Bucky. It can be your home too, if you want?” He and Tony had talked about it the night before, and Tony had insisted that if Bucky wanted to live at the tower, and Steve wanted him there, there was a guest suite with his name on it.

Bucky stared at him for a minute, then nodded. “Alright, uh, thanks?”

Tony rubbed his hands together. “Plane’s ready, gentlemen. Dr. Bendel says she needs to do an outtake exam with Bucky, so I thought we could go pack up the hotel, love?”

“Okay.” Steve looked back at Bucky who mouthed the word “love?” at him mockingly, and Steve scowled back at him. “We’ll be back soon. Then we’re going home, okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Thanks.”

Steve rushed through packing up his things at the hotel, even though he knew Bucky’s release would likely take longer anyway. Tony was quiet, either sensing that Steve’s churning mind wasn’t going to make him much of a conversationalist or unable to think of what to say himself. 

Bucky wasn’t being released exactly, he was being transferred, but they were willing to temporarily outpatient him so he could fly back on Tony’s private plane. He grumbled about the wheelchair but admitted he wouldn’t be able to stand anyway, let alone walk, so he succumbed to the indecency. He slept through most of the plane ride, stretched out on one of the reclining seats, wrapped in blankets. Steve tucked up against Tony’s side, intending to enjoy some time with his boyfriend, but then he was startling awake as the plane landed.

Bucky spent another two days at a hospital in New York before they let Steve take him home for real. He still had a lot of medication to take, and a lot of physio and doctor’s appointments he would need, but he was up and walking about now, and getting stronger every day. He’d been visited by a few men in uniform a couple of times, and Steve had politely stepped out, but whatever they’d told had seemed to help Bucky come to grips with the loss of his arm. 

Steve found himself nervous on the day he went to pick up Bucky. Tony had insisted that it was better that Steve show him the tower himself, so Bucky wouldn’t feel the need to pretend if he wasn’t happy there. So he sent Steve with a driver over to the hospital and disappeared into his workshop.

Bucky’s mouth dropped open from the moment they pulled into the garage and stayed that way all the way up the private elevator and out into his apartment. “This is where you live? I - Jesus.”

“Well, technically, this is where you live. Tony and I live up in the penthouse, and the Avengers have the ten floors below you.”

“This whole apartment is for me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I can stay with you down here for a while, if you want?” Steve offered, dragging Bucky’s bags into his new bedroom. 

“No, no. That’s alright. I’ll be okay. I’ll need to get a new cell phone, though. Don’t want to always being going up and interrupting you.”

“Oh yeah.” Steve went into the kitchen and pulled a few boxes out of one of the cupboards. “Tablet, phone, laptop… I… honestly don’t know what this one is.”

“This is all Stark stuff?”

“Yeah. Tony had the place stocked for you. These are probably prototypes, actually, so hopefully they don’t burst into flames or something. Or try and do your taxes.” Steve flicked on the phone and held it out to Bucky. “But you don’t need to call me if you need something. Just ask JARVIS.”

JARVIS spoke up, and Steve went through the entire introduction of Tony’s AI, remembering his first time meeting JARVIS and wondering at how used to him he was now. He couldn’t imagine the tower without his constant presence, but he’d been a little freaked out by him in the beginning. He promised Bucky that it was alright if he was too, but it seemed that Bucky had reached saturation on being overwhelmed and just shrugged and said, “I’ll get used to it.”

Steve made coffee and they sat on Bucky’s new couch, looking out the windows at the New York City lights. “So, tell me about Stark,” Bucky said pointedly.

Steve shot him a look, calculating.“He punched a guy out for me, once.”

Bucky burst out laughing. “Of course that’s the best way into your pants.”

“Oh no, he was already in my pants by then.”

“Gross.”

“We were at a club, and this asshole wouldn’t leave me alone, and Tony told him to shove off and we were going to dance but then he made some dick comment, and Tony didn’t even hesitate, he just spun around and got the guy right in the nose. Then he immediately turned back to make sure I was okay.” Steve couldn’t stop grinning at the memory, even knowing Bucky would be able to read him like a book if he couldn’t school his expression.

But Bucky was too busy laughing to notice. “Oh man, that’s classic. Isn’t that what made you decide to ask Peggy out? She kicked some guy in the stomach?”

“It was in the knee. And it was another two months before I asked her out.” Steve shot Bucky a sly look. “But yeah…”

“Steve, I think you have a violence problem.”

“It was hot, okay?”

Bucky shifted in his seat. “And he treats you alright? You’re good here?”

“Oh yeah. Too good. I’m getting all used to the lap of luxury. It’s awful. I actually ordered takeout up to the penthouse the other day because the food I wanted was down thirteen floors in the Avengers’ fridge and I was too lazy to go get it. I had one of those ‘wow, what have you become’ moments.”

“This is totally crazy. I can’t believe this is your life now.”

“I can’t either. But Bucky… I’m so in love with him. It’s not the tower, or the money, or even Iron Man. I’m so in love with Tony. He makes me so happy. We’re really, really good together.”

Bucky watched him for a moment, then nodded. “I can see it. I know what you look like happy, Stevie. You loved Pegs - still do - but you weren’t happy with her. You’re happy now. I’m glad.”

“Thanks, Buck. I think you’ll like him, once you get to know him.”

“I hope so.”

But it seemed Bucky wouldn’t get the chance.

Over the next week, every time Steve went to spend time with Bucky, Tony was swamped with work, and then as soon as Bucky was at the hospital, or taking one of his many, lengthy naps from the pain meds he was on, Tony appeared again, miraculously free. It took a while for Steve to see the pattern but once he did, he wasn’t sure how to handle it. It was clear that Tony was avoiding Bucky, but it wasn’t clear why. He was still working on the prosthetic arm but hadn’t even told Bucky it existed. 

Steve fretted it about it for an entire day and then decided he had three options. He could ask Tony what was up, he could ignore it and hope they sorted it out themselves, or he could light blue touchpaper and retire to safe distance.

He decided on the third option.

“Hey, J, can you tell Tony that I’m on my way down, if he’s in the workshop?” Steve asked. Tony would one hundred percent assume that Steve was looking for a little afternoon delight if he worded it that way. He felt bad for about two minutes that he was being so sneaky, but then again, Tony could have just used his words.

When JARVIS confirmed that Tony was in the workshop and would love to see him, Steve went down the two floors to Bucky’s apartment and knocked on his door. “Hey Buck,” he said when it opened. “Come with me? I want to show you something.”

Bucky rubbed a hand over his eyes - it looked like he’d been sleeping again - but he nodded and followed Steve into the elevator. Steve went up to Tony’s workshop level and crossed his fingers that Tony would be dressed when the doors opened.

He was dressed, in fact, one might say overdressed. He had the top half of the Iron Man armour on, one palm pressed flat against some sort of sensor pad he had attached to the side of a filing cabinet. Steve had a brief, face-heating flash of memory at the last time he’d caught Tony like that.

“Hey, babe! Is that you? I can’t see anything out of the HUD right now, gimmie a sec.’

Bucky snorted. “Quite the catch, Rogers.”

“It’s alright to be jealous,” Steve quipped back. Tony started making clicking noises with the suit and swearing softly under his breath, so Steve called out, “No rush! I’m going to show Bucky the studio. We’ll be right back.”

Tony went very still, then said, “Okay,” in an overly calm voice, and Steve suspected he was processing all of his options for escape, including putting on the rest of the still very prototype armour, leaping out of the window, and hoping it miraculously flew.

Steve urged Bucky around to the studio and showed off his supplies and a few of the paintings he’d done in the last two years. Bucky was sufficiently impressed, and particularly fond of some of Steve’s architectural pieces.

“Yeah, those are my favourite to do, as well. I think I’m going to focus on that. Bridges and stuff. And I’m looking into maybe taking some extra classes on restoration, I always really liked that.”

Bucky beamed. “I’m glad you get the chance to do that now.”

“Thanks. Me too.” Steve set the painting down. “You know, if there’s anything you want to do...?”

“Just trying to, you know, learn how to open jars and stay awake through an entire day at this point. If that’s okay.”

“Of course. Tony might actually be able to help with the jar thing. That’s what I brought you down for. Hold on, one sec.” Steve shoved Bucky towards another stack of canvases and hustled out into the workshop alone. Tony had the helmet off now, but had half the shoulder plates, and one gauntlet, still on. The gauntlet hadn’t moved from the sensor pad. Steve glanced pointedly at the pad. “I thought you could show Bucky your arm design. The doctors want to fit him for one soon, apparently it’s best if you get right on that.”

Tony sighed and glared at his own hand. He gave it a tug and it didn’t move. “Are you sure?” He tugged again. “Don’t want to, you know, bust up the…” He tugged harder.

“Tony?”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. There’s a little issue, with the, um, thing.” Tony glared at it for a moment then bit his lip in concentration. The gauntlet sprung open, and he wriggled his arm out of it, leaving it empty, palm still pressed flat against the side of the filing cabinet.

“I thought you were measuring something.”

“It’s a thing with the - uh - magnets. Fixable. I think. Anyway. Not the point. Are you sure?”

Steve followed Tony back over to the desk, glancing back at the half-arm sticking out of the side of the filing cabinet. “Am I sure? Of course. You designed the arm for him, right? Unless you don’t want to give it to him?”

“No, no. I made it for him. I just… I thought maybe I could make it and then _ you  _ could give it to him.”

“But… why?”

Tony opened his mouth then closed it. He stared thoughtfully at the shoulder plate then unclipped it and dumped it on the floor. “He’s.. you know… your friend. Your - uh - best friend… and I don’t want to… intrude. On your time. Together.”

“Tony.” Steve crossed his arms and cocked a hip against the desk. Tony was doing that nervous finger tapping thing he did. “Just tell me.”

“I really, _ really  _ don’t think he’s going to like me,” Tony finally managed to squeak out.

Steve blinked at Tony in confusion. “What?”

“I think Barnes is going to  _ hate me,  _ and I don’t want to put you in the awkward position of having a boyfriend and a friend who don’t get along.”

“But... you already don’t get along. You don’t even know each other.”

“I know,” Tony whined. “That’s where the whole plan falls apart.” He dropped his face in his hands.

“Why do you think he’s going to hate you?”

“I don’t know.” Tony sounded miserable.

“Tony. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes. I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Okay. Look, I met your best friend and that was fine. Bucky’s not going to hate you. He’s happy for me, for us. He’s grateful to get to live here. Give him a chance.”

“Yes, of course.” Tony waved a hand dejectedly. “Of course, I will. But please don’t dump me when he hates me.”

Steve chuckled, then grabbed Tony’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. “He won’t. I won’t. Man up, Iron Man.”

Tony perked up. “Can I wear the suit?”

Steve glanced at the filing cabinet. “No.”

Both Bucky and Tony approached each other like wild deer being offered a handful of food, but once they’d pranced around sniffing the air nervously for six million years, everything went alright. Tony tentatively offered the arm, and Bucky was temporarily overwhelmed, but when Steve insisted this was a normal sized gift from Tony and not at all insane - even though it was - Bucky relaxed. 

Tony settled him in a chair and started showing him some of the materials he was considering, how the joints would work and the different ways it could attach. They both got sucked into the science, and Steve hung back smiling, eventually grabbing a sheet of paper and propping himself on a chair with a pencil, sketching his boyfriend and his best friend leaning over a computer screen, heads tilted together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Idleness is to the human mind like rust to iron.” - Ezra Cornell_

“On your left!” a voice called, and Steve spun to see a stack of boxes with human legs staggering down the hall. The VA was surprisingly quiet, and Steve looked around to see if anyone else would offer help, but no one was there.

“Need a hand?” he asked the boxes. They paused.

“Wouldn’t say no.”

Steve stretched up on his tiptoes and just managed to pull the topmost box off. It wasn’t heavy, so he helped Bucky tuck it under his one arm and pulled another one off the stack for himself.

The man carrying the boxes, now revealed, gave them a grateful grin and set off with the two of them following behind. He tucked the boxes behind the reception desk, taking Steve’s and then Bucky’s and adding them to the collection. He offered them a warm smile and his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

Steve and Bucky shook his hand and introduced themselves. The man gestured around the room. “Anything I can help you with?”

Steve shot Bucky a look but he seemed to have left his words at home. He sighed. “We just got here. My friend is supposed to be coming here for physio and stuff.”

Sam nodded at Bucky. “Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” Bucky replied gruffly.

Sam lured Bucky into conversation as easily as a cat was lured into the vet’s office, but eventually he relaxed. Steve hung back, reading some pamphlets on what they offered there. Tony had immediately offered to pay for the best of whatever therapy and physio Bucky might want, and Steve might still push him to take Tony up on that, but the VA seemed like a good place to start. Bucky could meet other people in the same situation, get his footing again in an environment that was used to dealing with whatever he had to be going through.

Steve turned when he heard his name and rewound the conversation he’d only been half listening to.

“Mets, huh?” Sam had asked.

“Oh no, it’s Stevie’s.”

Steve looked at Bucky and realized he was wearing Steve’s Mets hat. He wondered how long ago Bucky had stolen it since he hadn’t seen it in ages. 

“I learned years ago to very carefully have no opinion,” Bucky added with a grin.

Steve scowled at him then took in Sam’s devious look. “Don’t tell me - Yankees.” Sam spread his hands in concession, and Steve rolled his eyes, muttering something about, “buying their way to the top.”

Sam laughed, and Bucky sighed. “Don’t get him started.”

Sam held up his hands. “Okay, okay. We can save the vitriol for another time. Can I get you to fill out a couple forms, man?” Sam asked Bucky. Bucky nodded, and Sam went around the other side of the reception desk. He pulled out a file and slid a few forms in front of Bucky. Steve hung nearby, ready to fill in if Bucky’s still rocky memory failed him.

There was a cough from behind the desk, and he saw Sam looking down at the form, face twisted oddly. His eyebrows shot up. “Avengers Tower?” he read off the form.

Bucky coloured. “Uh, yeah. That’s where we live.”

“You guys live at Avengers Tower.” He looked between them. “You’re Avengers?”

Steve laughed. “No way.”

“He’s Tony Stark’s boy toy,” Bucky helpfully supplied with a smirk.

“Ugh, could you not?” Steve smacked Bucky on the shoulder. “Tony’s my boyfriend. I live in the private part of the tower, and since Bucky’s been back he’s staying with me.”

“Wow. That’s wild.” Sam stared at them for a moment then frowned. “Wait a minute. You live with  _ Tony Stark  _ and you’re whining about the Yankees buying success?”

Steve couldn’t contain his laughter at that. 

“You think that’s weird. Tony’s a Red Sox fan.” Bucky rolled his eyes, and he and Steve shared a sigh.

“We almost didn’t make it past the second date,” Steve said. “He took me to an American League game - Sox, Yankees - and I nearly imploded not knowing who to hate more.”

Sam burst out laughing at that. He had a nice, warm laugh that was contagious, and Bucky and Steve joined in after a moment. Hearing Bucky laugh was so nice, Steve found himself distracted by it, grinning up at his friend, their conversation forgotten. Bucky shot him a look, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s too, but his smile didn’t fade.

Sam gathered up the forms. “That should do you. You can come in any time. There’s usually more people here - pizza party day - so if you give us a call Sophie can set you up with whatever appointments you need. Or you can just drop in for group. Whatever works for you.” Sam tucked Bucky’s file in the receptionist’s inbox.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said, and Bucky shot him a salute. The phone rang, and Sam instantly looked stressed, so they said their goodbyes and left him to run the place on his own. 

It was warm, so they got ice cream and chatted. Bucky was in good form this morning, the dark shutters refraining from closing over his eyes and his right hand no longer darting to his left shoulder every few minutes to dig fingers into the sore muscles with a wince.

The entire rest of the week went well, and more and more, Steve saw Bucky joining the Avengers in their common room. It was a relief to see him making an effort to make friends with them when he could so easily lock himself in his apartment and suffer in solitude. He still had moments when he’d get that pained look and walk out of the room without a word, but he was getting the hang of the newly-fitted arm - spending a lot of time in the workshop with Tony to perfect it - and heading off to the VA every day for various appointments.

On Saturday night, Tony didn’t show in the penthouse, and Steve made his way down to the Avengers’ common floors when JARVIS told him that’s where he was.

“Hey, Steve!” Clint called, beckoning him over as he walked through the door. The entire Avengers team - except Thor who was with Jane - plus Bucky, were all seated around the kitchen table, a few empties and some shot glasses scattered around. “You can answer this for us.”

Steve changed course for the table, tucking in next to Tony’s chair and leaning a hip against it. Tony’s arm slithered out to slip around his waist and tug him even closer. “What’s up?” He looked around the table and caught Bucky smirking in a worrisome way. “What did you tell them, Bucky?”

Bucky’s smirk was replaced with over-exaggerated innocence. “Why do you assume I did something?”

Steve eyed him up and took a swig of Tony’s beer. It was some expensive, craft thing that Steve had hated when he moved in but embarrassingly found he quite liked now. “You’re always doin’ something.”

“He definitely did something,” Tony confirmed, abandoning his beer to Steve and popping the top off another one. 

Clint spoke up again. “He told us this story where you and your art school friends were all drinking and you’d had at least seven shots, maybe more, and your phone rang and it was an interview for a job you really needed.”

Bucky took over. “Everyone said not to do it, to tell them it was a bad time and you’d call them back. But you said, ‘I’m fine’ and proceeded to nail the interview and then take three more shots back to back in celebration. You got the job the next day.”

Steve chuckled and sipped his beer. “That was for that print shop. I liked that job. Yeah, the drinks were probably just enough to get me feeling relaxed enough to be confident on the phone with the interviewer.” 

Clint stared. “There’s no freaking way. Come on. There’s no way a guy your size - or my size for that matter - can drink that much and still walk straight, let alone do a job interview.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “That a challenge, birdboy?”

“Oooooo,” Nat hummed under her breath. Steve poked her hard in the shoulder.

Clint considered Steve intently for a moment then nodded. “Alright, sure. Even though I’m kind of getting the feeling from those in the room that know you best that I’ve made a grave error, I desperately want to see you drink that much and stay upright. I think losing this might be better than winning.”

Nat poured two shots and slid them over to Steve, who settled on Tony’s lap and shot her a look. “Gotta catch up,  _ цыпленок _ . We’ve been here for an hour already.”

Steve shrugged and knocked the two shots back one after the other, then stuck his tongue out. He hated tequila. He knew they’d have no impact whatsoever. It would be several more before he’d even be flushed, and if he ate anything it would stretch out even longer. 

They decided to play cards to pass the time, Clint, Bucky, Nat, Tony, and Steve each taking a shot every time they lost a hand, nursing their beers in between. Natasha was ruthless at poker and Steve was awful, so it wasn’t long before she’d had the least and he’d had the most. Bruce didn’t drink, promising to shoo them all off to bed if anyone got dangerously drunk.

“Your deal, boss,” Clint called, tossing the cards to Tony.

Tony snorted, shuffling with impressive flourishes. “I’m not the boss, he’s the boss.” He gestured at Steve who had moved to his own chair after the first round of rightful cheating accusations. “I just pay for everything and let you all live here and make everyone look cooler.”

Steve laughed. “Hardly.” His favourite part of the evening was rapidly turning out to be getting to see Tony absolutely sloshed. Tony had warned him early on that alcohol was a problem of his and sometimes he was better off skipping entirely. But an evening with just the gang was one of the few times he’d really let loose, and tonight he’d been uncharacteristically bad at cards and therefore ended up unusually drunk.

Tony turned on him. “Was that a ‘hardly makes everyone look cooler’?”

“No, it was a ‘hardly I’m the boss,’ but sure, yours works too.”

“You cut me to the quick, Rogers.”

“You love it.” Steve winked across the table and Tony smirked, then broke into a warm smile.

“I love you.”

Clint made a gagging noise, and Bucky snorted into his glass. “You guys are so gross.”

“You’re just jealous, Barton,” Nat said lightly. 

“Of which one of us?” Tony asked cheekily.

Nat looked between them, considering. “Of Steve, obviously. Clint’s always wished he was the boss.”

The table broke into laughter until Clint claimed Tony was only putting off dealing because he was afraid to get his ass kicked again. The night went on, everyone getting drunker and sloppier as the shots made the rounds - everyone except for Steve. He was starting to feel a bit buzzed, his usually lax filters getting even laxer, but he was still far from inebriated. 

Cards started to bore everyone, so they switched to a series of bizarre sobriety tests which culminated in making Steve sketch each of them with his eyes closed, as if that somehow proved something. Clint looked at the crooked sketch of himself with a huge grin and declared Steve the winner before dropping a half-full beer on the ground and almost tipping over himself trying to pick it up again.

Steve hopped up on the counter and flipped to a new page of his sketchbook. Tony and Clint were having some sort of drunken arm wrestle while Bruce nodded off on the couch. Bucky and Nat were standing by the window, chatting, and Steve started sketching out the shape of their shoulders. As he worked them onto the page, he noticed with glee that Bucky’s hands - one flesh, one metal - were twisting and untwisting in the hem of his shirt, his cheeks were coloured, and not from the alcohol, and his sniper-eyes were locked entirely on Natasha. Steve smirked at his sketchbook, finishing the sweep of Nat’s hair and her own interested glance. Steve added a few cartoon hearts between them and ripped it out, folding it up and tucking it in his pocket.

Bruce chose that moment to startle awake with a grunt. He blinked at the group then swore and staggered out of the room. Tony chuckled, stood, tripped over his own feet and almost knocked over his chair. “Okay, _ weee,  _ I think the big, green guy has the right idea. Night guys.” He crossed over to Steve, laid a hand over each of his knees and leaned in for a kiss. “Coming?”

“Right behind you,” Steve promised, watching Tony wobble his way out of the room.

Steve followed only a few minutes later, dumping his empties in the recycling and calling out his goodnights. On his way out, he tucked the picture into Bucky’s hand with an exaggerated wink, already looking forward to the infuriated text he’d get in response. 

He padded down the hall, headed for the elevator, but a hand darted out and circled his wrist, twisting Steve deftly around in a spin and pulling him into a dance hold, up against a warm, strong chest. Steve grinned as Tony rocked them together to a rhythm only he could hear. Steve gave into his hold, letting Tony lead, and Tony twirled him. “You're drunk,” Steve said with a laugh.

“And you -" Tony spun him again “- are miraculously sober.”

“Thank god, or all this spinning would have me making a mess of your shoes.”

Tony chuckled and started working them down the hall towards the elevators. “Your liver must be amazing. I need to test it. Nothing kinky,” Tony said, leaning in to whisper it into Steve's ear. “For  _ science.” _

Steve smiled, tipping his chin up to catch Tony's eyes. “That is kinky for you, sweetheart.”

Tony spun them one last time into the elevator and slumped against the far wall, pulling Steve against his chest. “Mmm. You called me sweetheart.” Tony's cheeks were flushed with drink and his eyes were twinkling mischievously.

“You like that?”

Tony was temporarily distracted by Steve's nose, running his finger down its length. “I like you,” he whispered, sounding like he'd entirely forgotten what they were talking about.

The doors chimed as they slid open and Steve backed up, drawing Tony in after him. “Well, I love you. Sweetheart.”

Tony actually giggled, and Steve couldn't hold back his laugh. He eased Tony out of his clothes and tossed his own in the hamper. He shoved at Tony's chest to knock him onto the bed, but Tony hooked his arm as he went down and yanked Steve down on top of him. A brief scuffle ensued while they each tried to force the other into the cuddle position of their choice.

Tony's thigh brushed Steve's bare cock and the atmosphere shifted with his gasp. Tony's eyes darkened, and his hands started petting and exploring, drunk and clumsy. He buried his face in Steve’s neck with a satisfied sigh and started nipping everywhere he could reach.

Tony wasn’t hard yet, but he was rocking his hips in a way that suggested he would be very soon, so Steve rolled with the movement, straddling Tony’s thighs and finding friction for his cock. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t completely sober either and the mild buzz was making him feel easy and languid, like they could do this all night and he wouldn’t feel frustrated. Tony, it seemed, had other plans. His hands snaked down Steve’s spine to his ass and wasted no time teasing him, one grabbing a handful and squeezing, the other slipping between to press a finger against the rim of his hole, sending a shockwave of sensation through his core. He bucked into the touch and moaned.

Tony abruptly let go, his coordination affected to an almost startling degree, and reached for the bedside table with both hands. Steve assumed he was aiming for the lube, but he didn’t make it past the lamp, whacking it with one hand, attempting to catch it with the other, and ending in sending the whole thing tumbling over. The lamp took out a clock, a tissue box, and a box of cufflinks on the way down.

Steve winced, but Tony burst out laughing. Steve rolled his eyes, but he was struggling to hold back a laugh himself, until Tony twisted to the side and nearly knocked Steve onto the floor. “Tony!”

Tony stopped, whispered, “Oops,” and started laughing again.

And he was so happy, and silly, and adorable, and ridiculous, that once Steve had grabbed the sheets and hauled himself back up again, he grinned down, taking Tony’s face in both hands. “You are completely off your rocker.”

“Steve,” Tony said seriously. “I think I’m really drunk.”

“I think you are too.” Steve tipped off Tony’s lap and curled around him instead, resting his cheek on Tony’s chest, arms tucked under Tony’s shoulders, legs wound together. Tony managed to flip the blanket up over them and spent some time tucking it in around Steve with extra care. “Hey, Tony?” Steve whispered against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony’s words were already slurring as he faded into sleep.

“Thank you.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, drink-addled gears turning audibly in his brain. “For being drunk?”

Steve muffled his laugh against Tony’s ribs. “For everything. For giving me a home here, and more family and all this love and just… everything. You make me happier than anything else ever has.”

“That’s good,” Tony replied distantly. Steve rubbed his hand over Tony’s stomach and got a soft, happy hum in response. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

**

Steve teased his fingers up the back of Tony’s neck, twisting the curly strands of hair around his fingers and scraping his nails teasingly lightly along Tony’s hairline.

“You’re making it very hard to work,” Tony mumbled.

“I can tell,” Steve said cheekily, rolling his hips ever so slightly. Tony’s hand snapped to his back with a low growl.

“Keep that up and you end this right now,” he whispered in Steve’s ear. A shiver jolted down Steve’s spine, but he stilled. Tony was so deep inside him, filling him up, stretching him out. He longed to clench his muscles, rock his hips,  _ feel,  _ but he also didn’t want it to end. So he forced himself to breathe out, sink into the sensation, relax. He draped himself over Tony’s chest, shifting his bare legs until his toes rested lightly on the legs of Tony’s office chair. He hooked his chin over Tony’s shoulder and let his arms dangle. This was home. It felt grounding and real and  _ right  _ to be connected to Tony like this.

He shifted his toes again, getting comfortable, and Tony’s cock twitched inside him, his fingers tapping a reminder on Steve’s back. Steve sighed, contented, and let his eyes drift shut. He could stay like this forever. 

Tony couldn’t though. Tony would build and tense and squirm and work higher and higher while Steve sunk deeper and deeper. And when Steve was floating happily in a calm lake of sensation, Tony would snap, surging up and fucking him deep and hard until they were both sweaty and sated. Steve simultaneously couldn’t wait, and could wait for eternity.

He was just drifting off into a half-doze, too sleepy to draw over Tony’s shoulder, but not quite tired enough to sleep in the middle of the day, when there was a bang and a curse.

“Shit, Barnes is on his way here.” Tony sat up sharply, and Steve gasped as his cock moved inside him.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, shocking him awake like ice water. “What happened to the alerts?”

“I had everything turned off because of the comm testing, and I forgot to turn them back on,” Tony growled. “Shit, pretend to be asleep.” Steve tried to stand, reaching for his pants, but Tony’s hands locked over his hips and held him down. “No time. Not looking for a repeat of Bruce. Pretend to be asleep.” Tony pulled the blanket more firmly around Steve’s shoulders, tucking it under his thighs so you couldn’t tell he was wearing nothing more than his oversized SI hoodie. 

The door slid open a bare second later, and Steve let himself flop over Tony’s chest, eyes closed, body slack, and prayed to god his best friend wouldn’t realize Tony’s was currently balls deep in Steve’s ass.

He felt Tony’s arm move and imagined him making a shh gesture, one finger across his lips, because Bucky’s weighty boot stomps quieted, slowed. “He asleep?”

Steve felt Tony nod. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep last night. Conked right out as soon as I got him out of the studio.”

“Aww,’ Bucky whined sarcastically. “Adorable.”

_ Not as much as you might think,  _ Steve thought, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a few steadying breaths, realizing that an asthma attack would be the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen right now, maybe save for an Avengers alert coupled with an asthma attack. Or Tony’s chair falling apart.

“So what’s up, buttercup? Water in your suite not hot enough?” Tony said lightly, and Steve heard Bucky chuckle. He smiled against the seam of Tony’s shirt. It was nice to hear Bucky laugh.

“I had a few thoughts about the arm, if that’s alright?” 

Steve expected Tony to say that was great, but it would have to be another time because he was socked into something on a tight schedule - no doubt emphasizing that particular innuendo with a shift of his hips - but instead Tony shrugged. “Sounds great. What were you thinking?”

Steve went tense against Tony’s chest. What was he… A hand snaked under the blanket and rested lightly over Steve’s thigh. He braved a flutter of his eyelids and saw that Tony was turned partly towards his screens, and partly towards Bucky, meaning that Bucky, on his left, couldn’t see what Tony’s right hand was up to. The  _ asshole  _ was enjoying this. Steve held his breath as the fingers rubbed over his bare skin. 

He squeezed his eyes shut again. Jesus Christ, he could feel every inch of Tony inside him. Even as still as he was, every one of his heartbeats, every breath that Tony took felt like a thrust, sending his nerve endings jolting and shocking. 

Bucky started describing something about his arm, but the sound washed wordlessly over Steve, his entire focus laser-strong on what was happening under the blanket. Tony’s fingers slid up the inside of Steve’s thigh, stroking back and forth, and with every brush, he moved, not enough to be noticed, just a tiny clenching of his thighs enough to shift Steve a bare millimeter forward and remind him that Tony had him claimed.

Steve turned his face into Tony’s neck with a soft huff of air, muffling any whimpers that might slip out. Tony and Bucky continued talking, a hum of background noise, and Tony’s hand kept wandering, every touch multiplied by a million on Steve’s skin. His palm skated around Steve’s ass, flattening around one cheek and squeezing lightly, amplifying the stretch of his hole around Tony’s cock. Steve swallowed back a groan, letting a tiny noise leak out against Tony’s neck.

Bucky’s voice paused, then Tony’s other hand came around to rest on Steve’s back, petting lightly - a mockery of comfort in the face of the torture his other hand was enacting. Steve tried swearing at him through telepathy, but they hadn’t quite mastered it yet. Tony’s cock twitched deep inside of Steve and he moaned silently, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth. His lips brushed Tony’s neck and he felt a tiny shiver wriggled across Tony’s skin and that was when he realized…

This game went both ways.

Steve started with a puff of hot moist air against Tony’s neck and thrilled when he swallowed hard. The hand on Steve’s back stilled, and the hand on his ass spasmed, digging fingers into his skin and stretching his hole further. The pressure on his rim was intense, sending dizzying waves of pleasure through his core. His prostate begged to be abused, slammed against, the tiny movements inside him not enough to light it up. His cock was rock hard where it was trapped between their bodies, rubbing almost painfully against the fabric on the inside of his sweater every time it jerked impossibly harder. He could feel the sticky wet spot where he’d leaked an ocean of precome already.

Steve experimented with his options, unable to move anything but his face and his hips under the blanket without drawing attention to himself. He clenched his inner muscles, squeezing Tony’s cock and was rewarded with a hitch of breath and a stuttering slide of fingers over his backside. Tony’s hidden hand went to his hip, gripping for a moment, before his thumb slid into the crease, teasingly close to Steve’s cock. Steve rippled his muscles around Tony’s cock again, and Tony’s hand grabbed hard, holding his hip the same way he would when he was pounding into him, wild and reckless.

Steve flicked his tongue out, risking a small tilt of his head to catch the soft skin under Tony’s ear. He heard Bucky say, “You alright?” and Tony’s short hum of affirmation, and wondered how the torment was showing on his face.

Need was ramping up inside him, twisting his insides and sending throbbing blood into his core. His body screamed for relief, release,  _ movement,  _ and it took every ounce of focus he had to hold back. It was a testament to just how incredible Tony’s mind was that he was suffering the same and still carrying on a conversation, albeit a rather one-sided sounding one at this point.

Steve scraped his teeth lightly along Tony’s neck, moving as slowly as he could, hoping Bucky’s eyes weren’t on him. But then Tony leaned forward, ever so slightly, his free hand coming away from Steve’s back to gesture or point at the screen, and the small movement shifted Steve away, drawing Tony’s cock out of him by a scant inch. It was the most either of them had moved in over an hour, however, and it felt to Steve like a wild thrust. He bucked back down again, drawing Tony deep back inside his body with a gasp. Tony jerked at the movement, grabbing Steve around the middle. Under the blanket, his fingers snapped to Steve’s ass, brushing the edge of his stretched out rim and making him bear down in surprise, squeezing Tony’s cock hard. They both jumped, then snapped back to stillness, Steve’s breath caught in his lungs.

All was silent for a moment. “Are you alright?” Bucky repeated.

“He’s having a dream,” Tony said between clenched teeth. “Elbowed me.”

Bucky chuckled. “You want me to take him to bed?”

“Nope, nope, I’m fine.” Steve could feel Tony’s hand waving dismissively over his back. “But maybe we can continue this convo another time? I didn’t get much sleep either and I’m kind of checking out, sorry.”

“No worries.” Bucky’s chair screeched as his feet hit the floor. “And I do  _ not  _ want to know why neither of you slept last night.” Steve could hear the inevitable eye roll, and he smiled against Tony’s shoulder even as he closed his eyes again and went slack with feigned sleep. He heard Bucky’s boots make their way across the workshop.

The second the elevator hummed to life, Tony was in motion. “JARVIS, lock the door,” he snapped out, surging to his feet. The blanket hit the floor, and Steve’s back hit the desk, huffing out a startled “unh” as the impact knocked his breath lose. Tony loomed over Steve, pressing him into the glass desktop. Something hard was digging into his shoulder blade, but Steve didn’t care because Tony hadn’t even pulled free of him as they moved and now - fuck - now he was driving into Steve with deep, punishing thrusts, snapping like a light switch from tiny, barely-there movements to full-on assault.

And the hyper-focus and heightened sensitivity of Steve’s nerves after their teasing meant everything was multiplied, amplified into overwhelming, drowning sensation. Broken curses were falling out of his mouth, the loss of control of his lips reverting him to the heavy Brooklyn accent he’d managed to soften while at school. Tony wailed against his prostate with every other thrust until white-hot, blackout pleasure was all Steve could process.

“You filthy tease,” Tony growled in his ear, low, tense, possessive. “I’m going to fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

_ “Tony, Tony, Tony,” _ Steve whined, pretty sure he was already at that point. Feet and hands scrabbled for purchase on the wild, writhing body above him. Tony’s arms caged him in on either side of his head, his broad chest holding Steve flat against the desk. There was nothing else, just Tony, all around him, inside him, taking him, taking him apart. He barely felt his cock, squeezed between their bodies and rubbing against Tony’s abs every time he pulled back to thrust again, the pleasure inside him so much so that that sensation took a back seat. It built, spiralling impossibly higher until Steve couldn’t believe he hadn’t broken yet, couldn’t believe there was higher left to climb. And then there wasn’t. He tensed, every muscle in his body clamping down, then relaxed as wave after wave of overwhelming sensation battered against him, through him. 

Tony didn’t let up, pounding Steve through his orgasm and out the other side until he wasn’t sure if he was still coming this hard, or coming again already. His body was exhausted from being tense for so long and went limp in Tony’s arms, letting Tony wrap an arm around the back of his neck and haul him in, bracing him against his chest so he could fuck into him even deeper. Steve held on, lost, floating, aftershocks rocketing up and down his spine unforgivingly. Tony’s orgasm must have surprised even himself because without any of the usual signs he cried out and slammed Steve back against the desk, folding over him and falling still. Steve could feel the throbbing pulse of Tony’s cock inside him and clenched around it, thrilling in the sensation, high on the knowledge that he could make Tony feel like that.

Tony panted against Steve’s neck for a moment, his chest heaving and restricting Steve’s breathing a way that felt warm and safe instead of scary. Tony eventually pulled back, making them both groan, and Steve felt a trail of Tony’s come leak out of him at the loss of Tony’s cock, his body clenching and spasming around nothing after being full for so long. But now he was full of something else, of Tony’s claim, his pleasure, and the thought made Steve moan, squirming on the desk under Tony. Tony stood back and ran his thumb through the mess, pushing it back into Steve’s sore, fucked out hole and making him cry out and grab the edge of the desk with both hands, spreading his legs wider even as he twisted away from the overstimulation.

“Fuck, you look beautiful like this,” Tony whispered, and Steve’s eyes caught on his. Tony’s were wide with wonder, brimming with love and residual heat. He slid his hands up Steve’s legs, easing them closed even as Steve’s muscles shook with the effort. Tony rocked him up to his feet and immediately wrapped both arms around him, holding him close. 

They were halfway to the couch, where Steve intended to spend the next seven years half-asleep on Tony’s chest, when the Avengers Alert went off, filling the workshop with wailing and flashing lights.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony whined. “It’s only been like 18 hours since the last time. Sorry.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips.

“It’s alright.” Steve managed to struggle into his sweatpants, wobbling a little as his legs threatened to give out on him. “Save the world. I’ll be here. Wake me up when you get home.”

“Will do.” Tony grabbed the front of Steve’s hoodie and dragged him in for a deep, bruising kiss. “Love you.”

Steve yawned. “Love you too.” He watched Tony march off for the landing pad, gesturing wildly as he talked to JARVIS. He suited up, gave Steve a wave, and blasted off. A second later, the quinjet followed.

Steve hummed to himself in sated pleasure as the elevator brought him upstairs. It was early to go to bed, but fuck it. Literally - he’d been fucked so thoroughly he thought it was pretty likely he’d sleep until morning anyway. He pulled his hoodie over his head, burying his face in the front and breathing in deeply before tossing it in the laundry. It smelled like Tony and sex. His eyelids were already dropping as he rummaged around in the closet, looking for something to wear. He grabbed the first t-shirt his hand landed on, big - it must be Tony’s - and pulled it over his head. Tony would be happy to come home and find him in his clothes. He tumbled onto the bed with a smile on his face and drifted off almost immediately.

Steve woke up suddenly to the sound of footsteps in the hall. A glance at the clock told him he’d only been out for about half an hour. It was odd for Tony to be back so soon, but he was the only one who could come into the penthouse unannounced.

Steve stretched and climbed out of bed. He padded into the kitchen barefoot, scratching the back of his head as he yawned. His stomach rumbled  - had he forgotten to eat dinner? “Hey, Tony? No chance you picked up din-”

It wasn’t Tony.

Steve realized with dawning horror that the lights were off in the apartment, the kitchen appliances were silent. The only light was from the battery-powered digital clocks and the bank of windows where New York glowed vibrant and alive beneath them.

And Aldrich Killian was in their apartment.

“Steve Rogers,” he drawled. 

“Tony’s home,” Steve said immediately. “He’s downstairs and I think you’re going to find him a very unwelcoming host.” He dug around in his pockets for his phone, but it wasn’t there - it was on the desk downstairs.

“He’s not. He’s in Staten Island fighting some impressive looking slime monsters. So is the rest of the team. The only other person here is that one-armed friend of yours, and he has no idea we’re here. See, Rogers. I do my homework.”

KIllian stalked closer, and Steve caught sight of a man and a woman hanging back in the shadows of the living room. “I am so glad that your sugar daddy decided to put this baby on reactor power. Good for the environment. Easy to disable…” Killian leaned over Steve, the overpowering smell of his cologne making Steve gag. ”I hope you scream. You look like a screamer.”

Steve didn’t scream, but he did punch Killian in the nose as hard as he could, remembering Natasha’s lessons on balance, stance, and force. Killian reared back, growling, his hands going to his nose. Steve made to run, but the woman from the corner had crossed the room in a heartbeat and grabbed Steve by the arm. He struggled, but her hold was vise-strong and unbreakable; he was worried his arm might break first. 

He turned and bit down instead, and she yelled and slapped him hard across the face - so hard his ears rang and his vision wobbled. Fuck, she was strong. She started dragging Steve across the room, while Killian look on with undisguised, perverted glee, but Steve didn’t make it easier for her, squirming and making himself as heavy as he could. 

She glared at him, baring sharp teeth, then the place where her hand was wrapped around him started burning with pain. Steve thought she was squeezing impossibly harder, but when he looked down he saw glowing red fissures appearing in her skin, as if she were half-lava. His skin seared in her hold, and he cried out, tumbling forward, tears springing up in his eyes. 

Satisfied, her hand cooled again, but Steve could still feel the stinging pain of his abused skin under her fingers. He let her take him the rest of the way to the stairs with little fight, effectively subdued. They went up - Killian in front, Steve and his captor in the middle, and the silent man behind them. After only a few flights of stairs, they broke out on the roof, where a helicopter waited, it’s rotors splitting through the air in a heavy  _ whump whump. _ The wind whipped around them, and Steve felt vertigo’s pull for a moment. 

The grip on his arm kept him steady though, and they tossed him in the back of the chopper where he scrambled to find something to hold on to. It didn’t matter in the end, Killian snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrist and a handle between the seats.

As they spun off into the night, Steve’s heart sunk with the weight of what had happened. The power outage that Killian had managed had clearly disabled JARVIS, or at least his ability to see and speak in the tower - he was surely still alive in Tony’s suit. Bucky was probably asleep and hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t realized that a power outage in Stark Tower was a lot more worrying than the ones they had regularly faced in their shitty, Brooklyn apartment.

So Tony wouldn’t know he had been taken until he got home. And when he found out, he would have no way of knowing where he’d gone.

Steve watched Stark Tower disappear under his bare feet.

They hadn’t even given him time to put on shoes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Science is magic that works.” - Kurt Vonnegut_

The helicopter ride was a long one, and Steve was freezing cold and shivering by the time they touched down. No one seemed to care. The woman with fire under her skin snapped the handcuff chain instead of bothering to open it, making Killian roll his eyes, then grabbed Steve again by the arm. Her fingers dug into the spot she’d burned, sending a jolt of pain through Steve’s shoulder as she rubbed the blistered skin.

The air was muggy and overbearing, clouds threatening rain in the distance. They’d landed on the patio of a massive, sprawling house, and the woman dragged Steve along behind her as she followed Killian inside. The other man had disappeared in the opposite direction.

There were palm trees dotted around, and that plus the weather made Steve wonder if they were as far south as Florida. He’d never been there, never been anywhere besides the places Tony had taken him in the past year. His heart clenched as he thought of Tony. He was out on Staten Island, and he had no idea that Steve had even been taken, let alone where. Steve had no phone, nothing, no way to contact him. He had to hope that even though JARVIS couldn’t talk, he had some information when he was turned back on, or that someone had spotted the helicopter leaving and could tell Tony which way it went.

The woman dragged him along behind Killian, under an arch, down a hallway, and into a cold, damp room with no windows save for the entire front wall of reinforced glass. The door had been replaced with a set of metal bars, and inside the long room was a row of frightening looking chairs - like dentist’s chairs but with heavy-duty restraints attached - and several tables covered in lab equipment. There was a fridge with a keycode lock on it and a few IV stands with empty bags hanging from them.

Killian opened the door and the woman threw Steve in and slammed it shut behind him. They disappeared down the hall without a word. 

“Hey!” Steve called. If they were going to fucking kidnap him, the least they could do was acknowledge he existed. 

He walked up and down the room, taking in the equipment with a shiver. There was a dark stain on the floor under one of the chairs, and he hoped to god it was just spilled motor oil and not… spilled person. The chairs looked new and specially modified for a purpose. There was a cabinet filled with medical supplies - IV lines, needles, gauze. Steve pawed through it but found nothing of interest. He tried the fridge door, but it was locked. Spread out on one of the tables was a pile of equipment, but before he could look through it, Steve was distracted by a splash of warm light on the floor.

It turned out there was a window - one window - up high, near the ceiling. Steve could see a palm tree wafting its fronds back and forth, high in the sky, waving at the threatening clouds.

Steve had only seen them once before. After his graduation, and after The Battle for New York, Tony has whisked him off to the Caribbean for a vacation. They’d had a private house, with meals delivered and a beach all to themselves. It was hot and heady and surreal. Everything about it was new to Steve - the plane, the boat, the ocean, the food. And travelling with Tony was a special experience. He loved trying everything, meeting everyone, doing everything. And after a day of adventures, Tony would spread Steve out on the bed that was surrounded by picture windows gazing out over a sea of palm trees and reduce him to nothing more than a panting, sated puddle.

Steve glared up at the palm trees through the small window. He didn’t want that memory replaced with this one. 

He poked through the lab equipment, but he didn’t even know what most of it was, and none of it looked like an effective enough weapon that he could take out the woman that had burned him. His hand went automatically to his arm and he peeled the sleeve of his shirt back to get a good look at his skin. There was an angry, red mark in a hand shape on his upper arm and it burned and throbbed. A few places had already blistered, swollen and white, and he grimaced, hoping he wouldn't end up with a hand-shaped scar forever. Assuming he got out of here alive.

It felt like at least an hour before anyone showed up. Steve spent the time sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, trying not to stare at the palm trees out the window and think about Tony. Footsteps echoed in the stone hallway, and a moment later, Killian and the woman showed up, now with a different man in tow. He was shirtless and covered in tattoos, an angry sneer twisting his face. He came willingly, but the woman had a hand on his forearm anyway.

“Steve! How are you doing?” Killian said. He gestured towards one of the chairs and the man sat in it. “I was thinking. We’d like you to join our little venture here, use your, shall we say, ‘pull’ to get Mr. Stark on board. But instead of nattering on to you like a board meeting, talking about formulas and success rates, I thought I’d just show you myself what a scientific wonder we’ve created here.”

“I think I’d rather just go home,” Steve ground out. “You can email it to me.”

Killian stared at him for a moment, then broke out into fake-sounding laughter. “I like him. I can see why Tony likes you. Don’t worry, after this, he’ll like you even better.”

Steve stood, keeping his back against the wall. 

“Behold, magic!” Killian stepped across the room and typed in a code on the fridge. The door opened and he took out an IV bag filled with orange liquid. He handed it to the woman who hung it from the IV stand next to the man’s chair. Together, Killian and the woman began strapping him in, Steve’s heart sinking lower and lower as they tightened each band. Dread curled through his stomach. They were going to do something to this man. He had gone willingly, but did he know what he was getting into? Did he want this?

“Why are you letting them do this?” Steve asked him, but the man didn’t reply. Neither the woman, nor Killian seemed at all concerned about Steve, letting him move freely about the room with barely a second glance. The door had locked shut behind them, and Steve wondered if Killian had some sort of electronic key in his pocket that locked and unlocked it when he got close, like a new car.

Steve made his way around the chair, putting himself between them and the door, just in case he got his chance to bolt. He didn’t know where he’d go if he got free, but he could run as long as he could - which, granted, wouldn’t be long - but maybe he could find a place to hide until Tony came. 

Because Tony was coming for him. He had no doubt about that.

The woman finished setting up the IV, pushing the needle into the man’s arm. He winced, but didn’t struggle. She opened the IV line, then stood back, watching. Killian came over and slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders. He immediately shook it off, jerking to the side, but KIllian only laughed. 

“Watch the magic happen, Steve. The human body, it’s designed to be upgraded, begging to have the cracks in our potential filled in, and I’ve found just the thing. Damage, erosion, it all becomes nothing with Extremis. That pesky asthma problem of yours? A thing of the past. We can harness your strength and amplify it beyond what you would think a body is capable of. Watch.”

Steve watched in growing horror, unable to look away as the drug coursed through the man’s body. He cried out and tensed, shifting and squirming in the restraints, but unable to get free. His skin glowed orange, as if he had lava curling underneath it. Killian was grinning wildly and Steve realized he had been stumbling backwards when his feet hit the wall behind him.

There was a flash and the smell of burning hair, and then the man’s foot fell off and hit the floor. Steve gagged his stomach rolling, then realized it wasn’t the man’s foot - it was a prosthetic foot and it had fallen because it was being replaced by a new one. Tears of pain were streaming down the man’s face as his leg regrew, crackling and smoking. It looked like a recording of paper being burned to ash but played backwards.

But the pain was too much, the man was screaming in agony now, thrashing on the chair, struggling to be free.

“Stop it!” Steve cried. “That’s enough!” They’d fixed his leg, what more did they want? He shoved at Killian’s arm, but Killian ignored him, batting him aside. Steve couldn’t stand it anymore, he dove for the chair, hands out to tug at the restraints, but before he could reach it, the woman blazed across the room and slammed her arm into him full force. Steve hit the far wall with a cry, his chest heaving with the effort to pull breath after having it knocked clean from him. His neck throbbed with pain and he brought his hand up to it, to find it bleeding. He must have hit the side of the work table on his way down. He bit his lip and held back tears of pain as his body shuddered and struggled through the shock.

It didn’t last much longer. Eventually the bag was empty and the man’s eyes shot open again, glowing with fire. When he’d stopped gasping for air and growling at the room at large, the woman released him, taking a firm hold of his arm and dragging him away. He shot Steve a look on his way out and what had been blank and resigned before was filled with crackling, popping rage now.

Killian crouched in front of Steve where he still sat, slumped against the wall. 

“We’re going to fix you. We’re going to give you power you can’t even imagine. And you’re going to use that power to get your boyfriend on board with adding Extremis to SI’s lineup. There’s a little issue with failure rates. The bad batches have a tendency to go boom, but I’m sure Tony could solve that problem in his sleep. So you’re going to get him on board, by force, or by wiles, I don’t give a shit. But you will. If you don’t? I’ll destroy you.”

Steve swallowed, still struggling for air, his hand pressed firmly against the wound on his neck. He tried to say “Fuck you,” but it came out as more of a whimper.

Killian smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll probably like you better with a little juice in you. You must suck cock like a champion, it’s the only reason I can see for keeping you around.” Killian dragged his eyes over Steve’s body. “That, or this is the longest running pity fuck in history. Tony never was any good at taking out his own trash.”

This time Steve did manage a, “Fuck you,” his anger burning through his pain. He spat, trying to struggle to his feet, but Killian wiped it off, laughing and shoved Steve back to the ground. 

“See you tomorrow.”

The door clanged shut, and Steve curled up against the far wall, his hand still pressed to his neck, and tried to breathe through the rising panic. He could feel his lungs getting tight, a solid band of pressure squeezing in around his ribs, but he didn’t have his inhaler. He knew it wasn’t really an asthma attack, it was a panic attack, and that he could get through. He put his free hand on his chest and focused on breathing as carefully as he could. It took almost ten minutes, but he managed to get it under control. Anxiety still twisted and writhed in his stomach, but he was catching just enough oxygen to keep from passing out. 

They were going to pump him full of drugs, pump him full of fire and hope he didn’t burn up. And if he didn’t, he’d be like that woman, strong, angry,  _ blistering.  _ It would take away everything that was him and make him a cage for violent, destructive rage. 

Steve knew about violence and he knew about rage, but to act on it… that was something you did for other people, people who couldn’t stand up for themselves. If you had a place in the world where you could plant your feet and stand in front of people who didn’t have that luxury, you just… did. But Killian wanted to turn him into a killing machine.

And Tony wouldn’t want that, of course he wouldn’t want that. But it’s not like what he did have was ideal. They were wrong about Tony wanting Steve to get Extremis, but a small voice at the back of his mind piped up to say, maybe they weren’t all the way wrong. 

If Steve could cure his asthma, fill out a little, gain a few inches. If he could be more like Bucky, he wouldn’t just have to take the punches, he could throw a few worthwhile ones back. People like Killian wouldn’t have such an easy time dragging him around. He could punch out his own assholes at the club instead of needing Tony to do it.

But he also liked having Tony to do it. Sure it was hard always being the shortest and the smallest and the weakest, but it was other people who made him feel less for that, not some inherent shortfalling. And Tony never made him feel like that, Tony always made him feel powerful and valuable and capable. 

But surely, even Tony, wouldn’t mind if he had a few more muscles?

Steve sighed and shifted back against the wall. He pulled his hand away from his neck then grabbed a clean seeming cloth from the table next to where he sat and pressed it there instead. The bleeding seemed to be stopping which was good because he didn’t have much blood to lose. He still hadn’t shaken the chill from the helicopter ride, even though it was humid and hot here, and he tried to pull his pant legs down over his numb feet. Shivers jolted up his spine.

All he wanted was to be home in bed, curled up in Tony’s arms. What if Tony never found him? Or what if he found him too late? After Extremis… he might survive, but Tony wouldn’t want him anymore - would he even remember what it was like to love Tony? He wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them up to his chest. He would. He would remember no matter what. 

If only Tony were here… he’d sit behind Steve, pull him up into his lap, hold him close. Steve drifted for a moment, the fantasy so real he could almost feel it, then snapped back to attention. No he wouldn’t. If Tony were here, he would have busted them out already. You don’t put Tony Stark in a lab he doesn’t want to be in and expect him to stay there.

And if Tony could get out, so could Steve.

He forced himself to his feet and checked the cloth again - mostly clean. He jammed it in his collar in case it started bleeding again, then took another careful turn around the lab. All he needed to do was get the doors open. There were a few options for that. He could pretend to be hurt or sick and wait til they opened the door, then run, but they would probably be able to catch him. His best bet was to break out as sneakily and quietly as he could

He could try an explosion, file through them, or melt through them. Filing or melting would be quieter and less dangerous for him, explosion would be more likely to be able to do, considering he was in a lab with chemicals, and as far as he could tell, no files or blowtorches. Though, that being said, Extremis filled people up with fire… maybe the Extremis drugs would burn through metal. Killian had said bad batches went boom. As far as he could tell, it was the only dangerous thing in here. The man had been able to survive having it pushed through his veins, but that didn’t mean it was safe for non-human things.

And it was locked in the fridge.

But Steve had been watching while Killian typed in the code. He couldn’t make out the exact numbers but it was four digits and he had an idea of the shape of them. He staggered over to the fridge. At first he tried combinations at random, plugging in shapes that seemed similar to what he’d seen. But once he realized he’d tried the same code three times, he rustled up a marker and started keeping track, writing the nos on the side of the fridge. There were still so many possibilities, having a vague idea cut them down a lot, but not enough to make quick work of it. Luckily, the fridge didn't seem to care how many times you put in the wrong code, because there certainly were an awful lot of wrong ones.

It took almost an hour. His arms were aching from being held up and he was dizzy, his head throbbing with every pump of his heart, but finally he heard a click and a beep and the door opened. Steve slumped down on the floor next to the fridge for a moment rolling out his aching shoulders. His neck seemed to have scabbed over okay. He just wanted to sleep, but it was the middle of the night now and almost certainly the best time to break out with the cover of darkness. Plus Killian said he would be back tomorrow, and Steve didn’t know what time that would be.

Pumped up again by the adrenaline of fear, Steve pulled himself to his feet and went methodically through the contents of the fridge. There were several bottles only labelled with numbers, some vials and test tubes of what looked to be blood, some of it congealed and dark. Then on the bottom shelf was a bin full of bags of the Extremis drug, marked with lot numbers.

Steve wished he had some way of accessing their files - a computer or paper files - so he could try and figure out which lots were the most volatile. Perhaps even the ones that didn’t work right were still stored here. What else could you do with it? Pour it down the sink?

He pulled the bin out and it fell to the floor with a thump. It was too heavy for him to lift, but he didn’t care if he ruined the stash by leaving it out. He shut the fridge, making sure to mark the correct code before the door clicked shut, then dumped the bin of bags on the floor. 

At the very least, maybe he could ruin their entire supply of the drug and buy himself some time for Tony to find him. Hopefully they wouldn’t have a backup stored anywhere else. They clearly didn’t see Steve as a threat; it probably never occurred to them that he would break into the fridge. 

He pawed through the bags, trying to decide what the best option was and settled on wrapping his hands in the bloody cloth from his neck and extremely carefully ripping open the bag using the needle tip from one of the IV lines they had stored next to the fridge. 

Once he had a hole in the bag, Steve very carefully squeezed it over a low dip in the floor. It sizzled and spat when it hit the ground and his heart swooped with hope. It didn’t manage to damage the floor, but that only a small drip, if he used up all the bags on one spot on the door… it would take a long time though.

With no better options presenting themselves, Steve hauled the bags, one by one, over to the metal bars. He briefly considered trying to make a hole in the glass instead, but it was clearly the many layered bullet-proof glass that Tony had windowed the tower with, and he knew it would take a wrecking ball to get through it. No, the weak link was the lock on the door. If he could melt the lock, the door would open. 

Steve rummaged around some more and came up with some medical gloves. He layered four on each hand, wrapped them in the cloth once again and set up shop. Four bags at a time set next to the door. He popped open the first one with the needle point and held it over the lock, squeezing gently to get the liquid to spray over the lock in a concentrated jet. 

It was more arm lifting, and it was tense work, so it wasn’t long before he needed to take a break. His shoulders ached and he was so tired he found himself wobbling on his feet more than once, the dangerous chemical slipping and spraying over the rest of the door. The fear of getting the toxic liquid on his skin shocked him back awake each time, but once he had worked a little hole in the lock casing, he set the bag down and took a few minutes to rest.

They sky greyed, and a little dawn light leaked through the clouds. It was enough to push Steve back to his feet, scrambling for another bag of Extremis. He just lifting the open bag into place when a massive explosion rocked the mansion. The ground heaved and roared, and he couldn’t help thinking that that would have been the perfect distraction if only it could have held off for five more minutes. But then a new sound: the familiar roar of repulsors. Steve was flooded with relief so intense he staggered backwards and had to grip the table for support.  

Tony was here, Tony had come. 

There was another roar on the other side, by the window - Rhodey. Steve dropped the bags in the corner of the room and pressed up against the metal bars. “I’m in here!” he yelled, though there was no way anyone could hear him over the sudden, intense sounds of destruction that rattled the building. JARVIS would see him, though. JARVIS knew his heat signature, his shape. Steve looked around the room wildly. With Tony tearing through the compound, his best bet was  to find a safe place to hide and wait, in case Tony came in hot, or Killian tried to grab him and run. He went to the back of the room and set up against the wall, his side pressed against the fridge, one bag of Extremis tucked under his knees in case he needed to spray it on someone as a weapon. 

The sounds of battle raged on, grunts, thuds, tearing metal, repulsors, and gunfire. Steve wrapped his arms around his legs and waited. There was a thud in the hall then three men with guns came tearing past the door, yelling. They all hit the floor when part of the wall exploded in a shower of bricks and mortar dust. They stumbled to their feet, but Tony was right there, a streak of red and gold. Their bullets bounced off his armour uselessly, and he took out two of them with repulsor blasts to the chest. 

Steve could tell the moment Tony caught sight of him. He paused, face turned in Steve’s direction, then ripped the door right off its hinges. He threw the twisted metal bars across the hall, and they collided with two more guards who had stormed out of the door at the end. There was a moment of stillness, then one of the first wave of men staggered back to his feet, gun pointed shakily at Tony.

Tony spun, raised his arm, and hit the last goon right in the face. Before the man had even hit the ground, Tony was out of the armour, metal plates sliding open to release him, then clacking shut again. Re-formed, the armour turned and faced out, arms up, waiting. Tony skidded across the floor and collided with Steve, gathering him up in his arms. He pressed his face to the top of Steve’s head, and he could hear him repeating his name over and over. Tony was holding him too tight, but it was perfect and safe and _ fuck  _ it was over, Tony had him. Steve choked back a sob that was threatening to rattle its way out of his chest and gripped handfuls of Tony’s shirt, gluing himself to his chest. 

“Steve, Steve,” Tony murmured in his hair. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He pulled back a little, to meet Steve’s eyes, and Steve was about to reply that he was fine when Tony stiffened, looking over his shoulder. JARVIS must have fed him something through his earpiece because Steve couldn’t see anything, but Tony pushed him back down. “Stay down.”

Tony stood, spinning as he did, and then Steve saw: Killian.

A low growl ripped its way out of Tony’s chest, and he flew across the room. The armour split open, and he slammed into it, not pausing, not slowing down, as it reassembled around him. He collided with Killian, grabbing him around the throat and throwing him up against the wall, his scrabbling toes dangling several feet off the ground.

“I will rip your fucking face off,” Tony bit out, the venom in his words palpable even through the voice modulators in the suit.

Steve flinched, expecting exactly that to happen when there was another crash and Rhodey came skidding to a halt next to Tony, decked out in the newly painted Iron Patriot armour. Steve could see Tony tense up. Rhodey stood close by, one hand resting on Tony’s shoulder. They both stilled. Steve suspected they were carrying on a very tense conversation over their comms, and he honestly wasn’t sure if Rhodey was going to be able to stop Tony from tearing Killian to shreds. 

But then, after a moment, Tony released Killian’s throat, letting him fall to the ground in a crumpled heap, only for Rhodey to reach out and grab him by the arm, hauling him away towards the door. Steve couldn’t see them leave because his vision was suddenly full of red and gold.

Tony crouched down, flipping the faceplate up as he moved. The anger had entirely been replaced by worry. He reached out and cupped Steve’s cheek with a metal hand. His other hand rummaged around in a pocket that had opened in the suit and came up with Steve’s inhaler. He handed it over, and Steve was instantly flooded with relief. “Are you okay? Baby, please tell me they didn’t give you anything.”

Steve shook his head and took two draws on the inhaler, before speaking. “No. I’m okay.” His voice was barely a squeak. “They said they were going to give me something called Extremis but they didn’t, they didn’t get that far.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“No, Tony. I’m okay.” Steve reached out and placed his palm over the glow of the arc reactor. Tony’s hand slipped away then came back to tip Steve’s chin up, his eyes fixed on the cut on Steve’s neck. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No!” Steve grabbed Tony’s metal-covered hand and wouldn’t let it go. “Please take me home. I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine. I just really need to be home with you right now.” He tugged. “Please.”

Tony’s face twisted, he sighed, then stared at the ground for a moment, and Steve wondered if JARVIS was giving him stats on Steve’s condition. “Okay, okay. I’ll take you home. Come here.” Tony grabbed a dusty blanket off the floor and shook it out, then wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders. He hooked one arm under his knees and the other around his back and lifted him up, as easily as if he was the blanket alone. Tony took some time tucking in the edges of the blanket, wrapping it around Steve’s head and making sure his face was turned in to Tony’s chest, then he blasted off into the sky.

Tony lowered a few flaps and Steve found himself tucked tight against his chest, the worst of the wind blocked out as they rushed over the city. It was cold, but he felt undeniably safe, cocooned against Tony’s chest. He wasn’t sure if they were going to fly all the way home like this, but he didn’t care. As long as Tony didn’t leave him.

After about twenty minutes, Steve heard a familiar rush of engines, and Tony banked hard to the left. Steve peeked his head out of the blanket just in time to see the quinjet bay open and then they were inside and screeching to a halt. The jet shuddered as Nat pushed it to full speed, no doubt heading for New York. Tony set Steve down on the bench seat, still wrapped in the blanket and everyone crowded around.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you alright?”

“What happened?”

“Did you get Killian?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the wall, letting their voices wash over him. Somehow, it was colder here than it had been flying with Tony. A shiver jolted up his spine and then he couldn't seem to stop shaking, his teeth rattling together.

“He’s in shock,” said a soft voice, suddenly right next to Steve’s head, and he realized that Bruce had a hand around his wrist, his eyes on his watch. Tony had slipped out of the suit again and was crouched low in front on Steve, a hand resting on each of his knees. 

“Should we take him to a hospital?”

Steve shook his head, but they both ignored him.

“No blood loss, no head trauma. I think it’ll be alright. I have a doctor friend who can meet us at the tower and if she says hospital, we go. She’s probably going to want to test a bunch of things and give him some fluids but he just needs warmth and calories, most likely.”

Tony’s hand cupped Steve’s cheek and it was warm and strong and so familiar. Steve sighed into the touch. “Will you eat something, sweetheart?”

Steve tried to shrug, not sure if his stomach was up to the challenge. He certainly wasn’t hungry, but if Tony wanted him to, he’d try. But another shiver set him shaking, turning the movement into hunched up shoulders instead. Clint appeared beside Tony with a stack of blankets and Tony peeled the disgusting one from the cell off Steve’s back. He sat beside Steve on the bench seat and hauled him into his lap, then wrapped the blankets around them both. He was radiating precious body heat, and Steve curled into it, burying his face against Tony’s armpit. 

They tried to make him eat a granola bar, and he gave it a valiant effort, but he kept nodding off between chews, and it seemed that eventually Tony gave up. The next time Steve woke up, was when Tony lifted him off the bench to carry him off the jet and into the tower. The next time was in a chair in the penthouse, an IV drip in his arm. A woman was talking to Bruce and Tony on the other side of the room. His arm was itchy so he plucked at his shirt and found a goopy, sticky mess smeared over the burn on his upper arm. He’d forgotten about that. He didn’t realize he was picking at it, scratching idly, until Tony’s hand settled over his. 

“Leave it.” Tony took both Steve’s hands between his. “Dr. Cho says you can go to bed now, you up for it?”

Steve was already fighting the urge to drift off again. “Yes please.” His hand clenched around Tony’s. “You’re coming, right?” Even he could feel how slurred his words were.

“Of course.”

And then he was being lifted again. The murmur of voices, the elevator leaving. Somehow the IV was gone… Tony tucked him into bed and crawled in beside him. Steve wriggled around until he could feel Tony pressed against his back, from the top of his head to his toes. Tony’s arm settled around his waist. He was talking, but Steve couldn’t make out the words and he drifted off, safe in the cage of Tony’s hold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Science is a way of thinking much more than it is a body of knowledge.” - Carl Sagan_

All Steve could think about when he woke was how desperately he had to pee. Last night came back to him in bits and pieces as he shoved his way out from under a sleeping Tony and tumbled out of bed. They’d given him a saline drip, no wonder he was bursting. He staggered into the bathroom and relieved himself, then leaned over the sink to take in his reflection. He had dark circles under his eyes and a cut above his eyebrow where the woman’s pinky ring had caught him. He tipped his chin aside to reveal the jagged, dark line up his neck. It would scar for sure.

The burn on his arm wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. The skin had settled under the soothing balm of the aloe they had slathered him with last night, and he could see that it was already pink and healing. It might not even leave a permanent mark.

He felt a bit dizzy, and still tired, but also himself for the first time since Killian had appeared in the apartment. He let out a long, slow breath. He needed a shower. He settled for washing his face, planning to shower later, after he’d eaten something, but while he was still splashing water over his eyes there was a thump, a muffled shout and then a thud. Steve spun and stuck his face out of the bathroom door to see Tony standing next to their bed, panicky and wide-eyed.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Ah, fuck.” Tony tipped forward, folding over the bed until his forehead pressed against it. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice muffled by the sheets.

Steve patted his face dry with a towel and crossed the room, climbing up the other side of the bed and placing his hands on the back of Tony’s head. “What was that about?”

Tony surged up, sliding between Steve’s hands then crawling over him until Steve lay on his back, Tony looming over him on his hands and knees. “Small freakout when I woke up and you weren’t here.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Steve kissed him. “I didn’t think of that. I had to go to the bathroom.”

“Which you are totally allowed to do,’ Tony said teasingly, but there was still an edge of tension under his words. Steve tried to smooth it out with his hands on Tony’s skin. Tony’s eyes flickered over Steve’s face, following the same path Steve’s had in the mirror, his brow creasing with worry.

“I’m okay,” Steve whispered.

Tony huffed out a little tense breath and sat back, pulling Steve up with him. “What you are, is amazing. And hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Perfect.” Tony took Steve’s hand and led him into the kitchen. His cooking hadn’t improved much in the time they’d been together, but there were two things he had learned to make, and make well: pancakes and mac and cheese. Tony didn’t even ask, knowing what Steve would want. He pulled out a frying pan and various ingredients, chatting all the while about plans for upgrading Bucky’s arm already.

“I should go see Bucky,” Steve said, yawning. He leaned against the counter, but Tony grabbed his hips and hopped him up to sit on it instead.

“After. Can I have you to myself for just a little bit? Just breakfast?”

Steve could hear the waver there, the uncertainty, and he nodded. “Of course.” He shot a text off to Bucky.

_S: Having breakfast with Tony. I’m fine. I’ll come down in a bit. Don’t fuss or I’m coming right back upstairs again._

Bucky didn’t answer right away, and Steve wondered if he was still asleep after all the tension of last night. He vaguely recalled Bucky meeting them at the penthouse with Dr. Cho, but it was all a bit hazy. His phone buzzed while Tony was flipping the last pancake.

_B: Asshole._

Steve grinned. “Bucky is happy to have me back.”

“We all are.” Tony tucked in between Steve’s knees. He was a little taller than Tony like this, it was weird. Steve reached out and traced a finger over Tony’s nose, down to his lips.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

A low rumble vibrated in Tony’s throat. “I will _always_ come for you.”

“I know.” He met Tony’s eyes and there was a click between them, like a lighter being flicked on. Tony dove in, claiming Steve’s mouth with his, his hand smacking wildly against the stove until they heard the click that meant the burner was off. Steve hood his ankle behind Tony’s leg, tugging, trying to be even closer than pressed against one another.

Tony tugged at Steve’s pants, pawing at the zipper until he could tug them down over Steve’s hips and onto the floor. They parted long enough to each pull off their own shirt, then pressed close again. Steve sucked Tony’s bottom lip between his own and got a moan in response.

Steve’s legs came up to wrap around Tony’s hips and, after struggling out of his own pants, he grabbed Steve’s ass and hauled him up. Steve ground forward eagerly, mouth glued to Tony’s while Tony carried him across the room. He was clearly aiming for the bedroom, but he only made it as far as the living room wall. He pressed Steve’s back against the wall, making him hiss with the cold surprise. Tony swallowed the noise, pressing his tongue past the seam of Steve’s lips and licking into his mouth.

Steve dragged his hands down over Tony’s biceps to his chest. He could feel the muscles bunched and tensed, holding him up, and it made his whole body thrum with arousal. He circled the arc reactor with his fingers. It never ceased to amaze him that Tony trusted him with his heart like that. He had shown Steve early on how to pop the reactor free, replace it with a new one in case of an emergency, and he knew he was one of only three people who had that knowledge. It still awed him, as did the reactor itself, and his cock twitched as he traced the edge, getting off on trust and the pure beauty of the machine that kept his lover alive.

Tony ground forward again, and Steve dropped one hand lower, wrapping his fist around both of them. The slide of Tony’s cock, held tight against his own, sent shivers of pleasure jolting through his core. It was good, but it wasn’t enough, and Steve found himself whining and squirming in Tony’s arms, trying to get some kind of _more._

“Please, I need you inside me,” he begged, and Tony’s eyes flashed, then squeezed shut.

“Fuck, Steve.” He dropped his mouth to Steve’s neck and bit down hard. “I’d take you right here but we don’t have lube.”

“In the -” Tony dropped a hand to tease between Steve’s ass, still easily holding him up and Steve’s brain shorted out for a moment. “In the junk drawer by the couch. From - ungg - from last week.”

Tony ripped Steve away from the wall and turned to dump him on the couch on his back, stretching over him to rummage through the drawer while Steve sucked his nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Tony found the bottle and went to pop the top, but Steve stopped him. “I want you to take me against the wall like that, holding me up.”

Tony drew Steve in for another heated kiss, then rolled him sideways off the couch, catching around his waist as he went and twisting up to his feet with Steve in his arms. “Holy shit,” Steve said. “That’s so hot.”

“Anything you want,” Tony whispered. He pressed Steve’s back against the wall, more gently this time, and hooked his legs more securely around his waist. Steve took them back in hand, stroking his hand gently over both their cocks and thrilling at the press of Tony’s heat against him. Tony’s hand went back to his hole, slick now. The cold shock of the lube made Steve jerk away but Tony's hold was so firm he couldn't go anywhere which only spun him further out of control.

He squirmed just to make Tony hold him tighter, and Tony retaliated by sliding his finger in up to the second knuckle and crooking it just so. “Ah fuck, Tony.” His hands shot to Tony's shoulders and held on even though there was no risk of him slipping.

Tony pushed a second finger in next to the first startling a broken off curse out of Steve then dropped his face down to Steve's jaw. Steve tipped his chin back, resting his head on the wall and baring his neck to Tony. Tony kissed his way gently alongside the cut then over the front of Steve's throat to bite a bruise into the opposite side. He murmured, “Mine,” against Steve's skin right as he hooked his fingers again, pressing them deeper. Pleasure jolted from Steve's cock up to his stomach, and he arched into the touch.

Tony pulled his fingers free, making Steve whine after the loss, then hooked his arms under Steve's knees drawing him up and bringing his hips forward. He let Steve down slowly, every inch stretching him wide and lighting him up with frantic need. Gravity sunk Steve down onto Tony's cock until their hips were pressed together and Steve was impossibly full.

Tony let him settle there, still, save for his lips brushing over the curve of Steve’s neck. Steve shivered. “I wish I could stay like this forever.”

Tony chuckled against his skin the rocked back and forth slightly, not enough to pull free but enough for Steve to feel the movement. “I thought you were hungry.”

“Nope.” Steve carded his fingers up through Tony’s hair, sending the curls wild and scratching lightly over his scalp. Tony purred against Steve’s jawbone.

“I might get tired.”

“I believe in you,” Steve said.

Tony laughed again, then his voice dropped low. “Or I might not be able to keep myself from moving. Not when you feel so good, so hot, so tight around my cock. Not when I know you want me to so badly.”

Steve’s breath caught and his fingers tightened in Tony’s hair, tugging a little. “Tony,” he hummed. But he was the one who moved first, rolling up a scant inch then sinking down again. That pushed a beautiful noise out of Tony’s throat so Steve did it again, a little higher this time. He gripped tight with his legs around Tony’s thighs and set a rhythm, arching himself up until the head of Tony’s cock caught on his rim then pushing back down again until sparks of pleasure danced under his skin.

They rocked together for a long time, the pleasure building slowly, like climbing a mountain instead of falling off a cliff. With the wall at Steve’s back, and Tony’s arms tight around him, he felt safe and caged in a new way. He had the power of being on top, of controlling the pace of their hips, but was still locked in, contained, held, in a way that always made him feel soft and open and giving.

Tony shifted the angle and gasped, pressing his lips to Steve’s forehead, then he suddenly surged up, tucking his arms under Steve’s knees and tipping him away from the wall so he could push deeper. Like this, Steve could do nothing but hold on as Tony plunged into him, spreading his legs wide and thrusting up between them. Steve could see the claim in his eyes, the possessive glow and he threw his head back and sunk into it, letting Tony take him.

The climb continued, until Steve’s head was spinning and his muscles were straining, tensing and relaxing, desperately seeking release. He knew he could sneak his hand between them and push into it but he wanted the wild heady feeling of coming on Tony’s cock, untouched. “I’m so close,” he whimpered, knowing it would push Tony to spill filth in his ear, press kisses to his neck, and drive the orgasm down his spine to his desperate cock.

And he did.

“I know you are, baby, I can feel you clenching around me. You’re so hot and tight and you give it to me so easily. And only me.”

“Only you,” Steve echoed, the words slurring as he pushed them out of dazed lungs.

“I’m going to take you apart and then I’m going to fill you up and all day you’ll feel me inside you and know that you're mine.”

“Yours - nughh - Tony, Tony, please.”

“Come on, baby, come for me, come _on_ me. I want to watch you lose control.” Tony’s mouth fell to Steve’s neck and bit and sucked and liked, his hot tongue finding every tiny spot that set Steve alight. Steve arched up, letting his weight rock him down even further on Tony’s cock with every thrust. He gripped Tony’s strong arms as hard as he could, feeling the tense cords of muscle rippling under smooth, warm skin and knowing it was all for him.

“I’m -” Steve reached the peak of the mountain and slipped over the other side, sliding instantly into bone-deep, peaceful pleasure. He moaned out his release as his cock shot, untouched, over both their chests.

“Oh fuck that’s hot, Steve. I love it when you come for me, you’re so beautiful.” Steve was limp now, floating and easy, and Tony easily shifted him into the angle he liked best, pounding hard and relentless, deep inside Steve. Every thrust sent a new shiver up Steve’s spine, and he pressed his fists to Tony’s chest, trying to ground himself in the moment, not wanting to miss the immensity of feeling he experienced when Tony filled him with his come.

Tony slammed his palms to the wall with a cry, folding Steve almost in half as he crushed him against the wall. His cock throbbed and pulsed, and Steve could feel the rush of Tony’s orgasm inside him. “Oh my god,” Tony managed, his knees finally giving out and bringing them both to the floor in a crumpled heap. Steve landed gently in his lap, Tony’s strong arms around him making sure he didn’t jolt as they fell. He tipped his face forward until he found Tony’s shoulder and breathed in the warmth and the scent of him.

After a few steadying breaths, he found his voice, croaky and weak from his breathy cries. “I think our pancakes are going to be cold,” Steve gasped out.

“Fuck it, we’ll order in.”

They didn’t - a little trip in the microwave and the pancakes were as good as new. They ate together on the living room couch, legs tangled together in the middle. Steve set his plate aside and ran his hand lovingly over Tony’s foot where it rested next to his stomach. When they were done, he got dressed and left Tony lounging, still naked, on the couch in post-orgasmic bliss, to go visit Bucky.

Bucky tucked him into a hug as soon as he opened the door, his metal arm squeezing a little too hard. “Shit, Steve. I’m so sorry. I was here and I didn’t even know.”

“It’s alright. He found a way to shut down power in the tower. There wasn’t anything you could have done anyway. They came down from the roof. By the time you would have heard anything, they would have been long gone.”

Bucky hugged him again then shoved him aside, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Sit down. Tell me everything.”

Steve slumped onto Bucky’s couch with a sigh, accepting the mug of coffee he offered and blowing across it to cool it. Bucky and Tony both liked their coffee hot enough to sear off their taste buds. Steve liked his more along the lines of “tepid,” as Tony continuously told him.

He recounted his adventure to Bucky, broken and out of order as he tried to piece it all together. He’d get part way through then realize he hadn’t explained something that was crucial to understanding what had happened and have to backtrack again. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, drinking his coffee and listening intently, but he did stop Steve a few times for clarification.

“You broke into the fridge and then poured highly toxic experimental drugs all over the door to escape?” he asked, deadpan.

“Well, I wasn’t just going to sit around and wait to be rescued.”

Bucky burst out laughing. “Oh god, Stevie. I almost wish Stark had been a little later so he could have found you out in the front lawn making a break for it. You’ve got serious balls.”

Steve grinned down at his mug. “I don’t think he was in a place to be appreciating my balls at the time. He was a little freaked out.”

“Ugh, I do not want to hear about Tony and your balls.”

Steve shrugged. “You started it.’

Bucky shot him a look. “He doin’ alright?”

Steve picked at a chip in the ceramic handle. Turning the mug around, he realized it wasn’t one of the ones Tony had put in the apartment when it was stocked, it was one of Bucky’s from the old apartment they’d shared before he went overseas, with a picture of the Cyclone from Coney Island on it. He’d packed up his meagre belongings before he left since Steve didn’t have space for them at his new, shared apartment, with three roommates. Steve didn’t know Bucky had gone to the storage place and picked his stuff up. It was nice to see though, as much as the image made him a little queasy, small touches of his friend as he settled in. Maybe Bucky really could come to see this as home.

“I think so. I scared him this morning when I got up before him and wasn’t in bed. But yeah, he’ll be alright. Nothing bad happened to me.”

“That’s not really the point, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly.

And Steve knew it wasn’t, but what else was there to say? Yeah, it could have been too late. He could have been the man in the chair instead. But it wasn’t, and he wasn’t, and that was that. He shrugged. “He’ll be alright.”

“Okay, good.”

They lapsed into companionable silence for a while, Steve poking at the crossword puzzle Bucky had half-finished last weekend then left on the coffee table. “What’s a seven-letter word for ‘lapse in judgement’?” he asked.

Bucky got up for a refill on his mug. He gestured to Steve’s, but he shook his head, no. “Umm, ‘gaffe’?”

“Too short.”

“‘Mistake’?”

“Starts with an ‘s’.”

Bucky laughed. “‘Stevie’.”

Steve turned to glare over the back of the couch. “Also too short.”

“You said it, not me,” Bucky quipped. Steve growled and flung himself over the back of the couch at Bucky, but Bucky reached out with his metal arm and pressed his palm against the top of Steve’s head, holding him back easily.

“You ass.” Steve reached out to poke him in the side, but he couldn’t reach as Bucky twisted out of the way.

“Grow longer arms then.” Bucky laughed again and gave Steve a gentle shove backwards then stopped and snapped his fingers. Steve stopped halfway through launching himself at Bucky’s chest. “Screw-up.”

Steve paused. “That might work.” He went back to the paper and pencilled it in. “It fits!”

Bucky came back with his refill and a book but he didn’t read, instead laying it over his knee and staring at Steve with uncomfortable intensity.

“What?”

“What, what?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.” Bucky’s eyes snapped down to his book again. A moment later he shifted, then coughed. Steve was just opening his mouth to tell him to spill, already when Bucky spoke up. “So, what’s with Natasha?” His voice was too light, too casual.

Steve smiled behind his crossword. “What do mean by that?”

“You know just… I feel like I’m getting to know everyone here and I was... just wondering… what she was… like…”

Steve lowed the paper until he could peer over it at Bucky. “If you’re getting to know everyone, shouldn’t you know?”

Bucky frowned. “She’s hard to get to know.” He sighed. Oh no, he had it bad.

“She likes cats,” Steve offered.

“What?”

“She likes cats. She seems like this terrifying, untouchable person because she’s quiet and reserved, and she’s learned from years of hiding who she is that intimidation keeps people at arm’s length better than anything else. But then you find out she likes cats, and she makes her own doughnuts, and she has a beautiful singing voice, and then it’s kind of like oh, she’s just Natasha, you know?”

Bucky stared in silence for a moment. “She likes cats?”

“Yeah.” Steve filled in another answer on the crossword.

“I don’t know anything about cats.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying get a cat to impress her, Bucky. I’m saying find out the normal things about her and connect on that level. She also likes punching things. You could let her punch you.’

Bucky muttered, “Who said anything about impressing her?” under his breath, but went back to his book. Steve considered that the punching thing might actually be his best bet…

The rest of the day went by quickly. He spent a solid portion of it with Bucky, then called Peggy to her know what had happened and that he was fine, in case it ended up on the news. Doctor Cho came by to check Steve out again and declared him just fine, giving him a tube of sticky green paste for the burn and telling him to call if he felt any pain or soreness develop anywhere.

After a few days of recovery, Steve felt well enough to have dinner with the Avengers. Tony begged off early to go work, but Steve stayed at the table for a long time, nursing a few beers with Nat, Clint, Thor, Bruce, and Bucky, before bed. Once they trickled out for their own apartments, Steve went back upstairs.

The penthouse was quiet and dark, so Steve put on his painting clothes and went down to the workshop. Tony was up to his elbows in metal and arguing with JARVIS, so Steve waved and went into the studio, turning up his music to drown out Tony’s cursing.

Despite giving himself freedom to ignore his commissions until he was feeling fully recovered from Miami, Steve found himself picking up one of his new bridge pieces - a large scale painting of the GWB for a local architecture firm’s lobby. He found the straight lines and mathematical perspective of the landscape soothing, and the rest of the world slipped away as he worked his brush over the canvas.

Steve got caught up in his painting and didn’t notice the time ticking away. It wasn’t until his eyes went blurry, staring at his drawer of paint tubes, that he realized how tired he was. He glanced at his watch and it was well after midnight so he cleaned up his supplies and slipped back into the workshop.

“Tony? You ready for bed?” He suppressed a yawn at the word.

Tony looked up and blinked at Steve then glanced at his phone. “Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, love, I’m in the zone. I’m going to stay up, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Steve crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Tony’s lips, then turned and went upstairs.

And yet… facing their bed alone suddenly felt like a daunting prospect. He kept flashing back to his cold, terrifying night alone on the floor of Killian’s lab. He had missed Tony’s heat so badly, and now, even though he was home, it was all he wanted. He briefly considered going back downstairs and staying up until Tony was ready, but another yawn pushed it’s way out of his throat and he gave in. He curled up in the cool sheets until they were wrapped around him as tightly as possible, and eventually, nodded off to sleep.

Steve woke several times in the night, each time thinking he’d heard Tony coming upstairs, but he never did.

The next day, he had tickets for a minor league game with Sam. He went down to the workshop, surprised to find Tony awake and still working, to remind him he was going out. Tony seemed uncomfortable with him leaving again so soon after he had him back, and suggested he cancel this time, but he just wanted his life to go back to normal. He promised to keep his phone in his pocket with the GPS on, and Tony kissed him hard and watched him leave.

He met Sam at the park on Coney Island. Sam had seasons tickets for the Yankees and Steve had Tony’s box for the Mets, but try as they might, they couldn’t bring themselves to cheer for the other’s teams. Steve had lost interest in the American League a long time ago, and Sam kept comparing the Mets players to their counterparts on the Yankees. For a while they had wondered if they could be friends at all, and then they discovered a mutual love for minor league play, particularly the Cyclones. Now they hit up MCU Park together as regularly as Sam’s work schedule allowed. Sam was a nice guy and easy to get along with so it only took a few games before they were fast friends.

The stands were surprisingly full, and Steve felt a thread of unease coil through his stomach as he settled in his chair next to Sam, without really being able to put a finger on why. The man next to him spilled out of his chair and pressed against Steve’s side. He scooted away, closer to Sam.

“So how are you, man? Bucky told me about -” Sam looked around them. “- Miami.”

Steve shivered even in the hot sun. “Yeah. It… was very not fun.” His hand drifted up to press against the still-healing mark on his neck of its own accord. “But Tony came for me.”

“What’d they do with the guy? He in jail? Or…”

Steve opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, the uncertainty billowing loose into full-blown anxiety. “I don’t know,” he ground out, taking a long pull at his beer to cover his discomfort

Either Sam’s therapist powers made it clear to him that Steve didn’t want to talk about it, or the first snap of the ball into the catcher’s mitt caught his attention. They watched the game through two innings, chatting idly about the players and the team prospects during the breaks. Partway through the top of the third, Steve got up to get another beer.

He stood in line at the concession stand, idly flicking through his phone when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He snapped up, scanning the crowd. Someone had passed too close by him. He gripped his phone tightly in his hand, his heart pounding now. The line moved forward, but he didn’t, backing up against the wall. And then a figure broke free from the crowd, heading straight towards him. He had a baseball cap on but fuck it was Killian, he was here…

Steve staggered to the right and then man walked by without pausing. He broke into the light and Steve could see it wasn’t Killian. It was stranger with a vague resemblance. His heart wouldn’t calm though, threatening to pound right through his breast bone. Steve abandoned the beer line, stumbling into the bathroom, and closing the stall door behind him. He closed the toilet seat and perched on top of it. His hands were shaking.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket where he had shoved it, and he was calling Tony before he even knew what his fingers were doing.

“Steve?” Tony sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I -” He hesitated, not sure what to say. “I freaked myself out a little bit and I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“What happened?” He could hear a thump and a spilling scattering noise as if Tony had knocked over a container of tiny washers or screws.

“It’s fine. Nothing actually happened. I just -” Steve took a deep breath. Even just talking to Tony was helping. He felt steadier now. “I think it kind of hit me what happened, all at once and I… had a little anxiety spike. But I feel better now. You always make me feel better.”

“Are you sure? I can be there in three minutes to pick you up.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I want to see the game. I just needed a minute. I’m good now.”

“Okay.” Tony didn’t sound like he was totally convinced that it was okay.

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Hey, Tony?” he asked, then paused, not sure if he really wanted to ask the question that sat hunched on his tongue, waiting.

“Yeah?”

Steve opened and closed his mouth for a moment, then swallowed it back down. He didn’t need to know what had happened to Killian. Rhodey had taken care of him in whatever way was best. “Never mind.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I really don’t mind coming to get you.”

“I’m sure. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Steve managed to get sucked into the rest of the game. He grabbed a soda instead of another beer and the sugar and caffeine made him feel perked up almost instantly. He and Sam argued about pitching lineup and whether they really should have gone for the bunt in the bottom of the sixth.

But the Cyclones eked out a win, and he left the park with a smile on his face. He took a cab back to the tower, dropping Sam off at his place on the way.

Steve found Tony still in the workshop. He put the rest of his popcorn in Tony’s lap and kissed the top of his head. “How’s it going?”

Tony made a noncommittal noise. “Alright, I guess. Fighting me on a couple things.”

“You’ll crack it.”

Tony set his tools down and turned to Steve. “Thanks, babe.” He opened his arms and Steve settled on his lap, burying his face in Tony’s chest. He could feel him digging into the popcorn bag and then the movement of his jaw against the top of Steve’s head. Steve was feeling good, and he found himself squirming on Tony’s lap a little, looking for friction. He rocked his hips forward and his body started to take notice. He worked his hands up Tony’s sides, teasing, testing, but Tony set the popcorn aside and kissed him on the top of the head. “Sorry, Steve. I would love to pound you into my desk right now, but I’m kind of sucked into this.”

Steve tried not to pout. “You’ve been sucked in for like 24 hours now. Did you even sleep last night?”

“I caught a few hours on the couch.” Tony went back to work, picking up his tools awkwardly around Steve’s back. He kept bumping his spine with the handles.

“You could have come upstairs.”

“It was really late.” Tony shuffled on his chair, shifting Steve to the side a little. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

A screeching, grinding noise started up behind Steve and he flinched, slipping to the side and knocking Tony’s hand. The noise stopped. “Uh, sorry, but this might not be the best project to sit in on.” Tony set his tools down, hooked his arm around Steve’s waist and drew him in, burrowing his face in Steve’s stomach for a moment. He hummed happily. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Out?”

Tony hesitated. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Steve kissed Tony and went upstairs to read. Time ticked on, but when midnight came and went, Steve climbed into bed alone again, frowning at Tony’s untouched pillow. No matter how many blankets he piled up, he couldn’t get warm, and when he finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were not kind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Successful engineering is all about understanding how things break or fail.” - Henry Petroski_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for heavy relationship angst in this chapter - if you're worried and want a spoiler, jump to the end notes.

Steve woke with a jolt to JARVIS calling his name. He wrestled briefly with the covers, adrenaline pounding through his veins, giving him energy but no clarity.

“What the -” He looked beside him and saw Tony’s pillow empty and unused again. He was lucky to get him upstairs once a week at this rate. Steve scrubbed his hands over his face. “JARVIS?”

“Mr. Stark is calling for you, Sir.”

“Shit. Workshop?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Steve staggered to his feet, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. He needed to add more blankets to the bed if Tony was going to be pulling all-nighters this often; he always woke up freezing when he was alone. Steve blinked himself awake on the elevator ride down and realized how odd it was that JARVIS had woken him up in the middle of the night for Tony. His watch told him it was 4:30am. Tony wouldn’t have called for him at this hour unless it was an emergency. 

When the doors opened, Steve poked his head out cautiously, but the workshop was quiet and still. The wireframe blueprints for a new Iron Man mark were glowing above the desk. Steve caught sight of a foot hanging over the edge of the couch, and he walked around to face it. Tony was asleep - how could he have called for him? He was opening his mouth to ask JARVIS what was wrong, when Tony twitched, his hand clenching against his t-shirt.

Steve shifted to the side and the light caught Tony’s face. His eyes were pinched closed, creased with worry at the corners, and fluttering with dream movement. His hand twitched again and he whimpered. He was having a nightmare.

It seemed odd for JARVIS to wake Steve up for a nightmare, but then Tony muttered, “Steve,” in the most broken voice Steve had ever heard from him and it started to make sense. He sat on the edge of the couch, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders and rested his hand flat on Tony’s belly. “Tony, wake up. Come on. It’s Steve. You’re okay.”

Tony twitched again, curling in on himself, then woke with a cry, jolting upright. “Steve?”

“I’m here. You’re okay.”

Tony rubbed his hand over his face, then looked around in confusion. “Shit, I fell asleep.”

Steve had the frustrated urge to say, “Well, duh,” but he bit his tongue. “I’m not surprised. You’ve barely slept this week,” he said instead.

Tony frowned. “I don’t have time for sleep. JARVIS, why didn’t you wake me?” JARVIS didn’t reply, and Tony huffed, sliding his legs around Steve’s back and settling his feet on the floor. He leaned his elbows on his knees and yawned into his hands.

“Come upstairs.” Steve tugged on the corner of Tony’s sleeve, but Tony didn’t react to the touch. 

He glanced at Steve mournfully then shook his head. “I have to get this done. Fabrication takes hours and then there will be changes… What time is it?”

“Four thirty… why is this so important, Tony? There’s no time limit. Come to bed. I’m cold.” Steve let a little whimper slip into his voice, not above guilt-tripping after only three hours of sleep, but Tony didn’t budge. He shook his head again. 

“Go back to sleep, Steve.”

Steve reeled back at the sharpness of his tone. “I would be asleep if JARVIS hadn’t dragged me down here because you were having a nightmare.”

Tony frowned, then glared up at the ceiling. No matter how many times he insisted JARVIS didn’t live in the ceiling, he sure sent enough dirty looks that way. “I’ll turn that programming off,” Tony said flatly.

“That - that really wasn’t the point.” Tony huffed and stood, leaving Steve on the couch as he made his way back to his desk. Steve stared at his back for a moment. “Really?” Tony didn’t respond. “Fine. Whatever. JARVIS, order me a heavier duvet please.”

A muscle twitched in the side of Tony’s neck as his jaw clenched. “I’ll come up when I’m done.”

“No you won’t,” Steve snapped back. “Besides, you’ll never be  _ done.” _

Tony’s shoulders tensed, and Steve caught the edge of a glower blooming on his face. He knew he should wind back, apologize, but he was grumpy and cold, and exhausted. If Tony didn’t want to sleep beside him, fine. He wasn’t going to force him. 

He stood and marched out of the workshop, only faltering a little in his stride when he reached the elevator and Tony didn’t call him back.

**

“Peggy, I think I’m fucking this up too,” Steve whined into the phone.

Peggy laughed lightly, but not unkindly. “You never - uh - messed anything up Steve.” Steve could hear the light chatter of a coffee shop in the background. There must have been kids nearby or Peggy wouldn’t have bothered censoring herself. “You know we’re better as friends.”

“I know.” Steve sighed. “I was just being dramatic.”

“You!” Peggy gasped. “No way.”

“Shut up.” He pouted, even though Peggy couldn't see him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, darling.”

Steve sighed again, squirming down on the couch. Even though he knew it was highly unlikely Tony would come upstairs right now, his brain kept telling him the elevator was humming, making him startle up. He didn't want Tony to walk into the middle of this conversation, which was probably evidence alone that he should be having it with Tony, instead of Peggy. But he needed help getting his thoughts in order. “Tony’s been weird since I got back. Distant. I can’t figure it out.”

“Huh. I would have thought he would have wrapped you in bubble wrap, put you in bed and sat on top of you, growling at anyone who entered the room.”

“You know, it kind of sounds to me like you’re suggesting that Tony’s a bit possessive,” Steve said lightly.

“Just a bit. A tiny bit. Really quite a lot, though. In a good way!” She hastened to add. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighed again. “I’ll be honest, I was kind of expecting the bubble wrap too… but it only lasted two, maybe three days, and then he… disappeared.”

“Where did he go?” Peggy asked.

“The workshop,” Steve said. “He just... works. All day and all night. He barely sleeps. He won’t talk to me…”

Peggy made a considering noise. “Maybe that’s how he copes?”

“Maybe… it just feels… it feels like I did something wrong. Like maybe he realized that it’s not - that he needs someone, you know, stronger. Someone who wouldn’t just get taken like that.”

“Steve, this was not your fault,” Peggy said.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean there’s no way it made Tony change his mind about me.”

Peggy sighed. “I know this is hard. I can’t imagine what you’re going through - it must be terrifying - but I think you’re reading too much into this. You should talk to him, Steve.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Well, then give him some space and some time. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way.”

The elevator hummed, and Steve leaped to his feet. “I have to go.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself. Say hi to Bucky for me. And call me if I can do anything. Steve?”

“Yes?”

“You deserve to be happy. If you’re not getting what you need, say so.” 

“Thanks.” Steve hung up the phone just as JARVIS announced that Bucky was on his way up to the penthouse. Steve tried to think about what he needed from Tony, but every time he focused on it too hard, all he could see was Killian's face glaring down at him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought.

The doors sprung open, and Bucky stepped out.

“Pegs says hi,” Steve said, turning into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“Oh, so she can say hi to you but it takes her a million years to email me back?” Bucky grumbled without heat.

“Yeah, she probably just doesn’t like you very much,” Steve said, knocking back the entire glass of water and feeling instantly better.

“That’s probably it.” Bucky sat on the couch then looked around. “Where’s Stark?”

Steve picked at the edge of his glass. “His workshop.” He knew he should tell Bucky but there was something different about telling his ex-girlfriend who was currently on the other side of the ocean versus telling his best friend who was right in his apartment, judging his relationship. Tony was so afraid of Bucky not liking him, and even though they were friends now, Steve was loathe to whine about his relationship issues when it could colour Bucky’s opinion of Tony forever.

“Huh. Usually, I have to pry him off you with a crowbar.”

“Work’s crazy right now,” Steve said lightly.

“Wanna go to a movie then?”

“Sure.”

The weather was nice, warm but not too hot, and it reminded Steve that fall was coming. That would mean their two year anniversary was coming too. And everything circled back around to Tony again. Steve couldn’t even enjoy a day out with his best friend without dwelling on Tony the whole time. He firmly pushed thoughts of him out of his mind and forced himself to sink into what he was doing. The movie was a fun, action film, and Steve found the fast pace effectively distracted him.

He was feeling good by the time the movie let out, and he agreed easily when Bucky suggested they grab hot dogs and walk through the park. 

It was getting late by the time they got back to the tower, laughing and a little sun-stunned. Steve said goodnight to Bucky at his floor and flicked through his phone on his way up the rest of the floors. He stepped into the penthouse, eyes still on his phone, and screeched to a halt when a voice said, “Steve?”

“Tony?” Steve slipped his phone in his pocket. Tony was standing by the couch, his shoulders tense and his eyes pinched. “What’s wrong?”

Tony shook his head and the tension dissipated. “Nothing. I ran out of coffee downstairs and when I came up you were - uh - gone…”

Steve’s heart clenched. “I was at a movie with Bucky,” he said softly, stepping closer.

“I know. JARVIS told me.”

“I should have told you too. Sorry.”

A strange look passed over Tony’s face, but then his expression settled again. “It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to check with me every time you go out.” But his hands were tense balls in his pockets and it felt like there were words he wanted to add to that. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tony’s phone started buzzing, and he flicked through it with a frown. He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. He filled it with coffee, then grabbed the entire tin and tucked it under his arm. He pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips - nothing more than a chaste peck - and disappeared into the elevator with his eyes still glued to his phone. 

And Steve couldn’t help wondering yet again if it was something he’d done wrong. If he’d said something to make Tony fall out of love with him. But if he had, why didn’t Tony just say something? Maybe he really was this busy with work - he owned a multi-billion dollar corporation… Steve had gotten used to having him around though. He’d been busy before, but he’d always made space for Steve, even if it was just tucked against his chest, between him and his blueprints.

But not this time.

**

After another two days with no Tony, Steve broke, unable to face another cold, restless night alone. It didn't help that they hadn't had sex since the morning after Steve came home. He felt antsy and irritable, used to rarely going more than a day or two without a Tony-induced orgasm.

He could see, hear, smell Tony, but he couldn't touch. Every time he tried, Tony brushed him off, sticking his head back into his plans and spouting technobabble at JARVIS.

Steve was at the end of his tether, so he gave up and decided that if he couldn't beat ‘em, he'd join ‘em. 

It was after 2am before Tony noticed that Steve was still in his studio, painting huge, loud, angry, abstract things that didn't make for good art, but were cathartic to drown the canvas in.

“You're up late.” Tony said without inflection, sticking his face through the door into the studio.

“Sorry, is my light bothering you?” Steve bit out, failing at keeping his sarcasm under control.

Tony frowned, glancing at the obviously rage-filled painting. Steve scowled at it, not entirely sure that it was anything more than a neon sign to shove in Tony's face. “You should go to bed,” was all Tony said.

“I'm going to bed when you go to bed.”

Tony huffed, sighed, and Steve almost relished the fight he could feel building between them. Then at least Tony would be talking to him. But Tony just glanced back at his work and sighed again. “Fine. Come on.”

“Really?” Steve was startled into dropping his protective shield of radiating displeasure.

“Really. Take me to bed, Rogers.”

Steve blinked at Tony then scurried off to the bathroom to clean up his supplies. He did a shitty job washing his brushes, but he found it easy not to care. Tony was rubbing off on him, he realized, when his first thought was that he could just order more if they were ruined. Once they were passable, he hustled out, following Tony into the elevator. Tony hooked an arm around Steve’s shoulders as they rode up, and Steve burrowed into the hold with a sigh of relief; this was what he had been missing. Tony didn’t speak, or press kisses to Steve’s hair or neck like he normally would, but it felt like so long since he’d been held close, Steve didn’t really think about it.

They stripped down naked and climbed into bed. Tony held open his arms and Steve curled into him, wrapping over his chest and kissing his way across Tony’s shoulders. Tony sighed heavily and tightened his hold around Steve. Steve’s hand found its way over Tony’s smooth stomach and down to his thigh. Acres of warm skin had it’s usual effect and Steve’s hips rolled against Tony’s of their own accord. Tony made a soft humming sound so Steve pushed further, running teasing fingers over the crease of Tony’s hip and flicking his tongue out against his nipple.

But instead of grabbing Steve and kissing him silly, Tony circled Steve’s wrist with his fingers and brought his hand up to his chest, flattening his palm over the arc reactor and pressing his on top to hold it there. Steve got the hint. He slumped against Tony’s side, willing his dick to rewind and forget it ever had the idea it might get touched tonight. And it stung. Sure, Tony was allowed to not want sex - he’d begged off more than once before, citing exhaustion or Iron Man related bruising - but the silent rebuff was cold and empty and unlike him. Steve had been refused before, but this was the first time he’d been rejected.

He turned away a little, pulling his hand out from under Tony’s and tucking it against his own side. It took a while for him to fall asleep and when he did, he had weird dreams. He woke less than two hours later, shocking out of one where he was playing volleyball with the Hulk, using the Iron Man mask as the ball. 

Tony’s side of the bed was empty.

Steve swore viciously, dredging up some word combinations he hadn’t used since he was a scrawny target in high school and a foul mouth made bullies think twice about how much of a fight you might put up. He rubbed his hands over his face. He should have seen this coming. Whether Tony had always intended to go back downstairs once Steve was asleep, or if he’d just been unable to fall asleep himself, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to wake up alone yet again.

Steve stared at the ruffled sheets on Tony’s side of the bed and grit his teeth. Well, he wouldn’t be falling asleep again himself, and it was time they had this out anyway. Fueled by frustration, Steve tugged on clothes and stormed down to the workshop.

Tony had his welding goggles pushed up on his forehead and was poking a complicated looking circuit board with a soldering iron. Spread out on a table next to him was a new model of the Iron Man armour. Steve walked over to it. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked acidly.

Tony turned his head slightly towards Steve but didn’t look at him. “Fabrication finished.”

“And it couldn't wait til morning?” Steve walked the length of the armor, trying to figure out what special new feature this one had. 

“No.” Ice radiated off Tony and Steve burned up in response.

“That’s wonderful,” he muttered. “Cockblocked by a fucking tin can.”

Tony didn’t respond. Steve ran his hand along the stretch of metal. It didn’t look right - the proportions were all wrong. He stood at the foot of the table and looked up at it, holding on to one of its toes, considering. Then realization slammed into him and made him snatch his hand back. “Tony. Wait. What the fuck? What is this for?”

Tony didn’t answer, pushing the soldering iron deeper into the circuitry.

“Tony.” Steve walked around the table to stand at the edge. The suit was exactly the same silhouette he’d make if he lay down here. “Tony.”

“It’s just for emergencies,” Tony muttered at his work, still refusing to meet Steve’s eye.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You didn’t even ask… you made me an Iron Man suit - I  - I don’t even know what to say to this…” Fourteen different emotions were clawing for control of Steve’s vocal chords and so far frustration was winning out. “What were you thinking? You want me to fly this? I’m not going to use this! Are you crazy?”

“Apparently.” Tony pulled the goggles off the top of his head with a snap and shoved the finished circuitry across the table. “You don’t have to fly it. It flies itself.”

Steve gaped at him. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much that’s not the point.”

Tony stopped walking around the table and tipped down, bracing himself with a hand on either side of the suit’s head. “I -” His voice shook. “I have to fix this.”

“Fix  _ what?”  _

“Killian just walked in here and took you.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You already fixed the security hole with the arc reactor. It can’t happen again.”

Tony scrunched a handful of his hair in one fist, then released it. “So they’ll find another way,” he hissed. “I have to - to protect you. Find a way… so you can defend yourself.”

“Ah, so I’m too weak, that’s the problem? I’m getting an upgrade?” he snapped. “From boyfriend to sidekick? Is ‘Iron Boy’ taken?”

Tony looked pained. “Not like that.”

“You can’t pull this shit without talking to me first. I don’t want this.” Steve stared at the suit like it might rise up and swallow him whole. Knowing Tony, there was a good chance it could.

“Steve - please. I can’t -”

“Can’t what?” The words tumbled out now, fueled by anger and fear. “Can’t come to bed? Can’t be there for me when I need you? Can’t have a fucking conversation instead of hiding down here  _ obsessing?”  _

“I can’t fail you again!” Tony shouted, his hand coming down to smack hard on the metal table. “You don’t want this - fine.” He swung a hand and the circuit board he’d been building hit the floor with a sickening crunch. “I’ll find another way. But that -” his face contorted into rage “- that  _ filth  _ had his hands all over you for an hour before I even knew you were gone. He was on his way to Miami while I was dicking around on Staten Island. I can’t fail you like that again. I have to protect the one thing I can’t live without. I have to. Fix. This.”

Steve walked around the table and picked up the two pieces of the circuit board. He held them in his hands, tracing the delicate lines with his eyes. “I’m a person, Tony. I’m always going to be in a certain amount of danger. I’m only human. You can’t fix me.”

“I can fix this.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Steve.

Steve felt the weight of everything he had dealt with since Miami settle over him all at once. He was so tired and all he wanted was his boyfriend back, but Tony kept pushing him away. “Tony, I need you. I need you more than this stuff needs you.”

Tony's hands clenched on the table. “You knew what you were getting into when you were stupid enough to get into bed with me.” There was sudden venom in his voice, and Steve honestly didn't know if it was directed at him or at Tony himself.

“I don't even know what you mean by that.”

“I obsess. I build shit.” Tony's voice rose, rapidly approaching a shout. “This is what I'm like. I can't -" He broke off with a frustrated growl. “This is the real Tony Stark!” Tony spun and spread his arms wide with a fake smile plastered on his face. Steve reeled back from the lie etched all over his face.

“Why are you treating me like this?”

“Why don't you give a shit that someone could waltz in here and shoot you in the face and I could do jackshit about it?”

Steve swallowed. “Don't say that. Don't scare me, Tony.”

“You should be scared!” Tony growled out.

Steve set the circuit board parts down on the desk as carefully as he could but it still made a loud snap against the tempered glass. Tony started to say something else, but Steve turned and walked away, unable to hear it over the sudden buzzing in his ears. His eyes flickered to the crooked painting hanging in the corner of the workshop, but he pulled them away again. The elevator took him up to the penthouse where he walked around and around their bedroom in a pointless pattern, then he walked out, taking the stairs down to the guest floor. This was the room Tony had said he could have, if he didn’t want to share. It seemed so long ago that Tony had asked him to move in, monologuing distractedly in a way that Steve now knew was to hide nerves.

And he’d never used this room. Never wanted to, never needed to. But he couldn’t lie in their bed upstairs and think this through. He couldn’t smell Tony on their sheets - faint from how long it had been since he last slept there - and contemplate what he was contemplating. He sunk down on the side of the bed and dropped his face into his hands.

This wasn’t what he wanted, but he had been feeling over the last two weeks that what he wanted wouldn’t matter anymore. He was going to have to anyway. He curled up on top of the perfectly made bed and fell asleep, still fully dressed. 

When he woke, he wondered if Tony had asked JARVIS where he’d gone. If he’d even noticed that he wasn’t upstairs. He doubted it.

And with the morning came clarity, as unhappy as it was. He pulled out his phone. It was horrible, asking Bucky for help with this. He’d spent so much time and worked so hard getting Bucky to like Tony, to trust him, and this was going to ruin all of that. Even if he and Tony could - even if it ended up okay, Bucky was never going to trust Tony again, knowing he had hurt Steve, however inadvertently. Still, he couldn’t do this alone.

_ Steve: I need to leave the tower for a bit. Know where I can go? All my other friends live here now, and Peggy is in England for a few weeks. _

Bucky’s reply came almost instantly.

_ Bucky: One minute.  
_ _ Bucky: You okay? _

_ Steve: I’m fine. I’ll explain _ .

A few minutes of silence went by, and Steve just sat on the bed, staring at the wall, doing nothing, thinking nothing.

_ Bucky: Sam’s place. We’re all set. Want me to come up and get you? _

Sam. Of course. Steve would never have thought of Sam, but he had a house with lots of space and lived alone so they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else.

__ Steve: No  
_ Steve: I need to talk to Tony first…  
_ __ Steve: I’ll meet you in the garage. You’re coming?

_ Bucky: Of course I’m coming. _

_ Steve: Thanks. _

Steve hiked back up to the penthouse, sure that Tony wouldn’t be there, but on edge nonetheless. But the apartment was empty. He grabbed an old duffel bag from the closet and shoved some clothes into it, changing out of what he was wearing and into something more comfortable that he hadn’t spent the night in. He thought about his art supplies down in the studio, but it was all too much of a hassle to move so, as much as he wanted his art with him for this, he only packed a sketchbook and some pencils, along with one of his bags of random supplies, and left it at that.

Tony could always - Tony would - if he found a place to stay…. Tony could send over…

Steve cut the thought off.  _ Just focus on this. Get your bag, talk to Tony, get out.  _ He repeated the list over to himself. He packed his toothbrush and his deodorant, hesitating at the shower because they shared the shampoo - Tony liked Steve to smell like him - and he didn’t want to take the only one. He stood there for far too long staring at their joint toiletries, but when his phone buzzed, it startled him out of his trance.

_ Nat: Are you okay? Bucky says you guys are going to a friend’s house for a bit. Didn’t say why. _

_ Steve: I’m fine. I’ll call you later. _

_ Nat: Okay. Be safe. _

Steve knew Nat was only trying to be nice, caring, but it just made it worse, the thought of how many times he was going to have to go over this, explain. How humiliating it was to look at the life you’d built with someone and admit you’d failed. Bucky, Sam, Nat - and then everyone else after that. He rubbed his eyes hard then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off the headache he could feel inbound. 

And the hardest conversation of all was the one he had to have first, though, perhaps, this one would be the least surprising.

He took the elevator to the workshop, leaving his bag behind as he exited. He staunchly avoided looking towards his studio as he crossed Tony’s workspace. Tony was in his chair, back to Steve, facing his computer screens, but not moving, not watching anything, just sitting.

“Tony?” He was proud that his voice didn’t shake more. Tony’s head turned towards him slightly, but he still couldn’t see his eyes. “I have to talk to you.”

Tony turned fully now, his forehead creased with concern. His eyes were smudged black underneath and they pinched in at the corners. He had his glasses in his hand which was usually a sign of too long staring at his screens without a break. “What’s wrong?”

Steve took a breath and stepped closer, within Tony’s reach, but not touching. He fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater. “I have to leave the tower for a bit.”

Tony’s brows pinched closer together. “Why?”

“I - I don’t feel safe here.” He had to force every word out of his throat and they scratched and clawed the whole way up.

“I can take you anywhere… Paris? Australia.” Tony ran a hand through his hair and looked around the workshop like he’d forgotten where he was. His voice was tightening with stress. “You always wanted to see kangaroos and I gotta tell you the twenty-hour plane ride is less awful on a private jet…”

“Tony...” Steve started, not sure where to go next, how to explain.

But Tony sighed and stilled, meeting his eye. And Steve knew that he knew. “But It’s not the tower you’re leaving, is it? … You’re leaving me.”

“I need some space to figure things out.”

“I can give you -” Tony cut himself off. They both knew that wasn’t the point. “Yeah, okay.” His voice cracked, broke, “When?” shattered.

Steve took a tiny half-step closer, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “My bag’s in the elevator.”

Tony finally crumpled, all pretense at control evaporating. “No, no,” Tony murmured, dropping his face into his hands, then one darted out, and he hooked two fingers in the edge of the front pocket of Steve’s hoodie. And Steve realized in that moment that it wasn’t his hoodie he was wearing, it was Tony’s. He’d stolen it months ago because it was big and warm, and smelled like Tony. He slept in it while Tony was away on SI business, pulling his arms inside and burying his face in the hood. And he’d been feeling shivery and achy and vulnerable as he dressed so he’d grabbed the hoodie and put it on without thinking. For this conversation, he had needed his armour, and Tony was his armour. But not anymore.

Part of him was struck with the urge to pull the hoodie off and give it back, because taking it with him wouldn’t be fair, and wouldn’t be right, and might hurt too much. But that wouldn’t be right either, because he knew how that would look to Tony. And this wasn’t a rejection, even though he knew Tony was already going to take it that way.

Pain rippled across Tony’s shoulders, down his back, and Steve longed to reach out and smooth it away, but he couldn’t. Then Tony sat up sharply, releasing his hold on Steve’s pocket, leaning back in his chair. The pain had been replaced with numb blankness, the doors behind his eyes slammed shut. And that, Steve realized, was the moment of a breakup. Not the packing, or the confusion about hoodie ownership, or the pain-filled words. It was losing the right to see what was behind those eyes, to have those doors closed and locked, slammed in his face. In that moment, Tony wasn’t his anymore.

Tony sniffed once, sharp, his lips twitching but refusing to choose an expression. “Can I -” he started, then huffed and started again. “Can I have one - you know a last request? Will you - can I get Happy to drive you wherever you’re going? Just - you don’t have to tell me where. Just so I know you get there safe, yeah?” He wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah…” Steve agreed quickly. “I - we’re going to Sam’s. Bucky’s coming too.”

“Okay.” Tony repeated the word a couple of times. “Good.”

“Tony… I’m sor-”

“Nope.” Tony held up a hand. “Let’s… not. Do that.”

Steve hovered awkwardly a few feet from Tony’s chair while Tony stared pointedly at a spot on the floor somewhere behind Steve’s left elbow. Tony startled as if out of a dream. “Right, sorry. I’ll -” He gestured to his phone, then seemed to remember he was at home and called out, “J, get Happy, would ya?”

“Already on his way, Sir.”

“Right. Perfect.”

Steve's throat tightened and his skin crawled. Tony’s voice was carefully flat, controlled. And Steve had always been the one person who could break through that, get him to let it out, whatever it was, and deal with the aftermath. That chair… how many hours had he spent backwards in that chair, draped over Tony while he worked? Steve took a stumbling step backwards, and Tony made no move to stop him.

He tried to speak, to say something, to say, “I’ll call you,” or, “I hope it’s not forever,” or, “I love you,” but he couldn’t make his mouth work. Tony’s eyes dropped to the floor, and Steve stumbled his way back into the elevator. He turned to catch another look at Tony. He’d spun in his chair, his arms coming up to fold across his desk, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his crossed arms. His shoulders tensed up, shook. And if the doors had been just a tiny bit slower, Steve wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from flying across the room and throwing himself in Tony’s lap. But they snapped shut, cutting Tony’s huddled form off from view and leaving Steve alone in the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning from beginning notes: Steve asks for space and leaves the tower in what he hopes will be a temporary break.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The good thing about science is that it's true whether or not you believe in it.” - Neil deGrasse Tyson_

Bucky tried to push to talk in the car on the way to Sam’s, but Steve shook his head, not wanting Happy to overhear. Bucky huffed but fell silent. They pulled up outside Sam’s, and before Steve could start up the steps, Bucky dragged him off to the side, shoving him behind a large bush and grabbing a handful of his shirt so he couldn't escape.

“What the fuck, Bucky, are you trying to mug me? You already know I don’t have any money.”

“Can the sass, Stevie. Tell me what’s up, right now, before we go in there and you give a highly edited version to Sam.”

Steve sighed. “He’ll go all therapist on me.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking for the full details now.”

It was as painful as Steve expected, but somehow, he managed to get through it. In some ways, it was harder telling Bucky than talking to Tony. At least Tony knew what was going on, knew there was something cold and dark and awful brewing between them, but he’d given Bucky no warning, and now he had to start from the beginning and relive all of it again.

He told Bucky about first coming back, about everything being fine, and then Tony starting to spend more and more time in the workshop, skipping meals, skipping sleep, skipping Steve. He told him about their fights, and finally, about the armour clearly designed for him.

“Shit. That’s what he spent all his time building?”

“Yes.” Steve stared at the ground. “I think… I think there were other things. Thinking back, it’s clear he made a lot of different options, tried different tech to build something he could trust to keep me safe, and he finally settled on  _ that.” _

Bucky stared at him for a moment. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took him that long. I assumed you already had three or four in the closet and just didn't want to show me.”

Steve gaped at him like a stunned goldfish. “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s insanity, Bucky. That’s not me. I don’t want to be that.”

“Well, you don’t have to use it to fight, do you? Just to get out of a bad situation you find yourself in. It’s dangerous dating the world’s most famous superhero.”

“I can’t believe you think that’s okay.” Steve stomach was churning unpleasantly, and his eyes darted to the road nervously, sure he was seeing people there, but it was empty.

Bucky held up his hands. “He definitely should have talked to you about it first. And I’m really sorry he hasn’t been there for you Stevie. I’m on your side.”

“I don’t want to have a side,” he said morosely. “And I don’t want you stop liking him, Bucky. I -  _ I  _ still love him.” 

“I know.” Bucky pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just go inside. I’m exhausted.”

Sam didn’t make a fuss about them showing up on his doorstep with twin sullen looks and duffle bags. He ushered them in and fed them dinner without pressing for the story, and Steve was deeply thankful for that. He kept thanking Sam over and over until Sam told him that if he thanked him one more time he was going to drop him off a very tall building.

After dinner, Sam pointed towards the guest room with an apologetic smile. “Sorry guys, I only have the twin in there, but the couch is comfy.”

“That’s fine, Sam,” Steve said. “Than...at’s great.”

“Nice save, Stevie.”

“Shut up.”

Sam rolled his eyes and hauled a handful of towels and sheets from a cupboard in the hall. When Bucky started heading for the couch, Steve jumped in front of him. “No way. I don’t think so.” Steve snatched the stack of sheets from Bucky’s hands. “You won’t fit on the couch.” Though Steve would have given him the guest room even if that wasn’t an issue. Bucky took his arm off at night and needed a hefty stack of pillows forming a wall around him so he couldn't roll painfully on his shoulder in his sleep and wake himself up. Steve unfurled the sheet and started tucking it around the cushions.

Not long after, Sam and Bucky went to bed, leaving Steve alone in the almost-darkness of Sam’s living room. Light spilled around the thin curtains, and Steve stared at the shadows in the corners, unsurprisingly unable to find sleep. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was Tony. Tony smiling, Tony frowning at his work, Tony sleeping.

Tony covered in paint.

Despite the pain in his chest, Steve smiled at the memory. It was last spring, and Tony had insisted that Steve learn to handle basic robotics. Steve had agreed, on the condition that Tony also learn how to paint. They had spent a whole weekend playing with gears and circuit boards and Steve had to admit, it was actually pretty fun. The next weekend Steve had shown up in the workshop with a ratty old t-shirt of Tony’s and a glint in his eye.

Tony had accepted his fate with grace, changing his clothes and marching into the studio with confidence.

“So what do you want to paint?” Steve asked.

“Dogs playing poker,” Tony said without hesitation. 

Steve snorted. “How about something a little less ambitious for your first time?”

“Fine. Spoilsport. One of the fruit ones.”

“Fruit… ones? A still life?”

“Yeah. Fruit. Artistically arranged.” Tony gestured vaguely. “I’ll hang it in my study next to my leather-bound books.”

“You have neither a study, nor leather-bound books, but okay.” Steve set a blank canvas up on the easel. “We don’t have any fruit though, do we?”

“We don’t need it. I can wing it.”

“Tony, do you even know what fruit looks like?” Steve was working hard to hold back a laugh now.

“I’ve seen grapes once. They’re kind of tall and bottley, with a cork.”

“Have you seen a fruit before it was turned into wine?”

“It’s going to be, you know, abstract fruit. It’ll say something deep and meaningful, about my soul or gentrification or the plight of the penguin or something,” Tony said with confidence.

“You’re going to paint abstract fruit about the plight of the penguin.”

“Yes.”

“What is the plight of the penguin?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. Forced to eat fish all day? Birds, wings, but can’t fly? That’s pretty plighty.”

“Okay.” Steve grabbed a pencil and sketched out a rough still life of a few apples, a banana, and an orange in a bowl, all while trying hard to get across Tony’s deep, inspiring message. “I’m not sure I really captured the penguin issue,” he said, clamping the pencil between his teeth and scowling at the canvas.

“That’s alright, I’ll add it with the paint.” Tony flourished his brush threateningly.

“Okay, well, for starters, don’t use that brush.”

They spent the next hour arguing viciously about which brushes Tony should and should not be allowed to use, while Steve simultaneously ran point guard for his paints, which were in serious danger of being emptied onto Tony’s palette in their entirety. Tony, who had shucked his shirt at some point in a fit of artistic expression, was nothing if not bold with his colour choices. While Steve accused him regularly of not taking this seriously, after an initial period of insanity, Tony actual started to get really into it, mixing bizarre colours with care.

“Is the purple banana the gentrification bit or the penguin bit?” Steve asked, shoving a tube of cobalt blue into the back of his pants so Tony couldn’t use all of it on one of the apple’s polka dots. 

“Seriously? You have a  _ degree _ in art, Rogers, and you can’t tell? The American education system.” Tony tutted. “In shambles. For shame.”

“Is the American education system the spaceship they seem to be on?”

“No, that’s the artist sneaking in a little something personal.”

Steve eyed Tony with suspicion. “Do I want to know?”

“It represents your ass.”

“My -”

“Yes, because -”

“Tony, I swear to god, if you say it’s out of this world I will break this canvas over your head.”

“- because it’s out of this world.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Steve set his paints aside and lunged for Tony, who dropped his brush and yelped, diving out of the way. He flew across the studio, made for the safety of the bathroom, but when he tried for a shortcut by leaping over the couch, he caught his foot on the frame and tumbled backwards with a startled cry.

Tony ended up flat on his back on the ground, both knees hooked over the edge of the couch, feet resting on the seat. “Ow.”

Steve skidded down next to him and put a hand on his cheek. “Oh my god, Tony, are you okay?”

“I think I broke my everything.”

“Oh, poor baby.” Steve patted the cheek, grinning down at him, now that he could see he was fine. “Did you break a hip…”

“Don’t say it.”

Steve leaned in until he was right against Tony’s ear.

“Don’t say it, Rogers.”

_ “...Old man?” _

Tony grabbed Steve around the waist with an exaggerated war cry and hauled him, laughing, down onto the floor, half beside him, half on top of him. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“Right back at ya, mister.”

Tony’s eyes drifted down to Steve’s neck, then lower. His voice dropped. “You know, those pants are awfully covered in paint. You should probably take them off.”

In the face of a potential blowjob, Steve abandoned all competitiveness and undid his jeans, kicking them off with his boxers. He sat up, making to straddle Tony’s chest, but Tony grabbed his hips and spun him around. Without even taking his legs off the couch, Tony tipped Steve back until he had a knee on either side of Tony’s head and pulled Steve’s ass down over his face, pressing a hot wet kiss to Steve’s hole.

_ “Holy fuck -”  _ Steve cried out, unable to stop the frantic grinding of his hips. Tony stilled him with his hands, arms folded up over Steve’s thighs, as his tongue explored deeper. And Steve lost it. Lost the plot, lost control, lost his sanity. Because  _ good god,  _ he loved Tony’s mouth on him so much, and Tony was so unbelievably good at it. 

He gripped Tony’s forearms to keep himself from tipping over, his thighs already shaking with the effort of not smothering Tony to seek out new friction. He rocketed from zero to sixty and beyond in only a few heartbeats with Tony’s tongue licking, sucking, torturing his ass. He felt the need to swear, moan, cry, to find a little catharsis, but his vocal chords seemed to have seized up along with the rest of him, and all he could do was ride Tony’s face and try not to collapse into a puddle on top of him.

Tony hummed, and the vibration rattled up Steve’s spine, shaking loose a new urgency. He reached forward and made short work of Tony’s fly before bending over and pressing his mouth to Tony’s cock, huffing warm, moist air through his boxers. Tony’s hips jerked, his feet sliding on the couch cushions, but his tongue never stopped or slowed. Steve shifted back a little, moaning as Tony tipped his chin up for better access, and curved over, freeing Tony from his boxers and swallowing him down to the base.

He sucked Tony off as relentlessly as Tony worked his ass until they were both shaking, groaning, sweaty messes. Every time he bobbed his head down, his hips would rock and Tony’s lips would rub over his rim. Tony fucked him with his tongue until Steve’s cock was desperate, leaking precum all over Tony’s chest as the heat rubbed teasingly against Tony’s soft skin. 

Steve sunk his head down, wrapping his tongue around the shaft of Tony’s cock and hollowing his cheeks slightly, and Tony jerked up, grabbing at Steve’s legs, then suddenly Steve’s mouth was filled with hot, bitter come. He sucked Tony through it then pulled off, too lost and wild to manage more than a half-swallow as come dribbled out from between his swollen lips and onto Tony’s belly. Steve sucked in oxygen desperately, not realizing how light-headed he was, until he had air again. Tony pushed at his chest and Steve rocked up again, crying out at the new angle. Tony licked a hot swathe over Steve’s hole then reached forward and wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock. It was his left - his right was still covered in paint and Steve had already warned him several times that acrylic paint was a terrible idea for lube - but instead of pumping, Tony simply wrapped his fist around Steve and let him thrust back and forth into it, rocking his hole over Tony’s gifted mouth.

Steve fucked Tony’s fist, writhing on his face and it only took a minute before he tensed, then came, shooting streaks of come over Tony’s chest, over the arc reactor -

Steve startled up as he realized he’d been palming himself through his sweatpants, lost in the memory. He blushed and pulled his hand free, rolling over determinedly. It was bad enough that he had to come ask Sam to put him up because he’d had a fight with his boyfriend, the last thing he wanted to get caught doing was jacking off all over his couch.

The memories wouldn’t stop, though. The night plowed on, and it felt like he hadn’t slept at all, caught in an endless film reel of his best moments with Tony over the last year. But the clock told him it was already 5:30. Knowing he wouldn’t fall back asleep, Steve grabbed a book at random off Sam’s shelf and flipped through it idly, spending more time falling back into painful memories than processing the words on the page.  

At 6:30 the kitchen light went on, and Sam started making the soft noises of breakfast. Steve set his book down and padded down the hall to wish him good morning. 

“Hey, Steve. You sleep alright?” Their voices were hushed in the small kitchen, not wanting to wake Bucky.

“Not really.” Steve shrugged. “Not your couch’s fault though.”

Sam held up a bag of bagels, and Steve nodded. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk about it and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

“That’s fair.” Sam slotted two bagels into the large toaster and pulled out butter, cream cheese, and jam. “Still, if you want to more, I’m here.”

“Thanks, man.” Steve sighed and rubbed his fists over his tired eyes.

The bagels popped, and Sam split them onto two plates, offering Steve a knife and the option of condiments. “Miami must have been hard,” Sam said lightly.

Steve nodded, spreading cream cheese on his bagel. He’d told Sam what had happened but none of the details of after. “It was.”

“How you feeling about it?”

Steve frowned at his food. “Okay… I think? I have a lot of dreams but -” But they weren't dreams of what had actually happened. They were dreams of Killian. Burning alive. Steve supposed he should have found them satisfying, or cathartic or something, but they just terrified him instead. “But I’m getting better.” He shrugged.

“That’s good.” Sam patted him on the back. “It gets easier. You can always come talk to me, you know. I’ve dealt with this kind of thing a lot. Just don’t worry about ‘getting better’ being a linear thing, okay? You’ll have a bad day and you’ll think it’s all going to shit again. It’s okay to feel awful sometimes, Steve. Those days will get farther and farther apart.”

Steve nodded, shoving his bagel in his mouth to give his hands something to do. It was throwing him off-kilter to have been talking about nothing but Tony for a week and to suddenly have someone ask about Miami. He almost felt the need to correct Sam, to tell him he was here because his relationship was melting down, and not because of what he’d been through, but he wasn’t sure why. It was honestly kind of a relief to talk about something else for once.

The whole day went by without any word from Tony. Steve knew he was obsessively checking his phone, and while both Bucky and Sam must have noticed, neither mentioned it. Steve declared that he wanted just one day to not think about anything, or make any decisions, or think about Tony, and his friends acquiesced, turning on the game and pulling out beers and trying their best at being wonderful distractions.

But it didn’t work, and by the evening, Steve’s stomach was twisted up in painful knots at the promise of having to actually face his problems tomorrow and figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

Steve was settling down on the couch to read, sure he was in for another sleepless night, when the doorbell rang. Sam glanced at Steve, then crossed the room to the hall. Steve heard the door open and then a voice - Pepper’s voice. He pushed up off the couch and came around the corner.

“Hi, Steve.” She shot him an encouraging smile. He knew he was probably grimacing at her, but he couldn’t seem to summon a smile of his own. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He didn’t want to invite even more people into Sam’s house so he pushed past both of them, out onto the porch, and Pepper followed him. He leaned against the brick wall.

Pepper considered him for a moment then sighed. She reached into her purse and pulled out a ziploc bag. It had Steve’s inhalers in it. Four of them. His heart started pounding uncomfortably in his chest. “Tony asked me to bring these over.”

Steve took the bag and nodded down at it. Tony had noticed that he had forgotten. His mental image of Tony still in the workshop where he’d left him was replaced with one of Tony wandering through their apartment, pulling open drawers and counting, increasingly worried. “Thank you.” He took one out and put it in his pocket, leaving the rest in the bag. Still, he hadn’t come himself.

“He also asked me to give you this.” She held out a folded piece of paper.

Steve took it, and he could see the rough scratch of Tony’s handwriting inside. He swallowed hard. Tony didn’t write on paper much. “He could have called me…” He fiddled with the paper, not sure if he should read it now, or wait until Pepper left.

“He won’t,” Pepper said with grim surety. Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. And yeah, okay, that hurt. “Tony won’t chase you, Steve. He won’t show up drunk at your door, or call you in the middle of the night. When he breaks down, he’ll do it alone, and you won’t know. Because he knows how easy it would be to ruin your life, to smother you, to never let you go, to follow you forever. He knows he has the power to do that, and he’s terrified he’ll use it.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times. He stared down at the letter. He could see the scratchy “-T” at the bottom. “I told him he could.”

“Steve.” Pepper reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder. He found himself leaning into the contact a little bit. “He doesn’t hold out any hope that you might come back. He doesn’t see things that way. In his mind, it’s over, you’re gone, and there’s nothing he can do. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, he’s not going to. He’s trying to give you your space.”

Steve fiddled with the edge of the paper, running his fingers over the single crease. He tried not to ask, but he couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth once he’d thought them. “How is he?”

Pepper opened her mouth, then tipped her head to the side and closed it. She tried again. “I don’t think it’s really my place to say… he’s what you’d expect, Steve. Not good.” Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “How are you?”

Steve sighed. “Also not good.”

“I’m so sorry.” Pepper pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him. She was a good hugger, warm and strong, and she smelled sweet and fruity - body wash or perfume - and Steve sunk into the hug, drawing as much comfort from it as he could. “You can call me, if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you.”

Pepper pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned to go, picking her way down Sam’s uneven front steps in her staggeringly tall heels. She slid into a town car that was idling on the street, and it pulled away. Steve stared at the letter in his hands, trying to predict what it might be, what it might say. Pepper said Tony wouldn’t chase him, but maybe this was one last effort to bring him back? Or maybe he needed to say goodbye. Steve’s breath caught in his chest, and he was grateful for the comforting weight of his inhaler, back in his pocket. 

Unable to take the tension anymore, he flipped open the paper and read the note.

_ Steve  
_ _ This is probably creepy or overbearing or something, so - sorry - but I can’t stand the thought of you completely unprotected at Sam’s. If you’re even still there. Not all of Killian's men have been accounted for yet. So I have to offer - I have an apartment… building in Midtown. It has heightened security. You and Bucky are welcome to stay there - Sam too if you want. Pl- _

There was a violent dark scribble then Tony had continued on a new line. Steve wondered what he had crossed out.

__ You can keep it. I won’t bother you there.  
_ -T  
_ __ P.S. It’s the penthouse at One Carbonell Square. The door code is the name of the painting I bought.

Tony had given him an apartment. Of course, he had. Steve sat down hard on the flimsy deck chair by the door, clutching the note in his hand. He turned it over, as if he’d find more on the back, as if Tony might have scrawled, “I love you,” or, “I miss you,” somewhere hidden. But, of course, he hadn’t. Pepper was right. He wasn’t going to push. He was going to let Steve go. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to fight for Steve, it was because he knew he’d win and he didn’t want to take Steve’s choices away from him.

Steve’s throat locked up, his eyes burning, and he tried to swallow them back down, but hot tears leaked out of his eyes and splashed down his cheeks. He dropped the note in his lap and pressed his face into his hands. And once he’d started, he couldn't stop. Great, heaving sobs wracked his body as he tried to shove his grief back down into his stomach where it could twist and writhe and torture him but invisibly to the outside world.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the porch and cried, but eventually, Bucky’s arm settled around his shoulders, and a glass of water appeared in his line of sight. “Fuck,” he choked out, rubbing his hands over his face too hard, trying to erase the evidence of his meltdown but probably only making it worse.

He handed Bucky the note without a word and stared blankly at the cracked bricks while he drank. Bucky read, then folded the note closed again and patted Steve on the back. “Alright, buddy, grab your stuff.”

“What?” Steve stared up at him.

Bucky waved the note. “We’re going here. Come on.”

“Really? I - I thought you wouldn't -”

“Look, Stevie. I know I’m supposed to hate him for breaking your heart or whatever, but I really don’t. I’m pissed, sure, and we’ll probably have words at some point, but I know this is way deeper than that. And even if I did, he’s right.” He waved the note again. “You’re not safe here, and it would kill you if you put Sam in danger. So we’re going to the Stark apartment, at least for now. So get up, pack your things. Let’s go.”

Steve felt like he ought to argue, but he wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t feel together enough to make a decision anyway, so he caught himself in Bucky’s wake as he turned back into the house. Bucky explained to Sam, while Steve threw the couple of things that had managed to work their way out of his bag back in. He knew Tony would be happier if Steve called Happy, but he couldn’t face that, and in the end, Bucky called a cab without asking.

Steve turned his phone around and around in his hand as they drove across town. He couldn’t just... leave it there. He had to reach out, say something.

_ Steve: We’re going to the apartment. _

He tried to figure out what else to say, but in the end, he hit send, leaving it at that. It was less than a minute before his phone buzzed.

_ Tony: Thank you. _

And that’s what he should have said - he should be the one doing the thanking. He squirmed uncomfortably on the slippery leather seat of the cab. He had the pounding headache that only came from failing at holding back tears after too long, his mouth dry and scratchy even after drinking the water Bucky had brought him. He just wanted… Tony. He wanted Tony. He wanted to crawl into his lap and close his eyes and not think, Tony’s hands tucking under the back of his shirt, cheek warm against Steve’s ear.

He wanted Tony.

_ Steve: I should be thanking you. _

There was no reply.

The cab pulled to a halt outside an unsurprisingly high-end condo tower. A doorman held the door for them as they came in, clearly expecting them, offering to help them bring their bags up to the penthouse. But they hardly had anything with them so they shook him off and clambered into the elevator. The elevator opened to a short hallway ending in a single door with a numbered door pad. Steve took a deep breath then reached out and typed in the code: 4376.  _ Hero. _ The door clicked open.

The top floor was dizzyingly high up, but Steve was used to that now, and he barely looked at the long stretch of windows, or the chef-quality kitchen, or the hot tub on the all-season balcony. 

He shuffled into the first bedroom he found and dumped his bag by the bed, curling up on top of the sheets. Bucky stuck his head in, took one look at Steve and sighed, flipping the light off. He heard the sounds of food being made, and Bucky puttering around, setting up his laptop and poking at the bookshelves. But some time between the fridge door closing again, and Bucky swearing softly as he stubbed his toe on something, Steve drifted off to sleep.

He woke to his phone buzzing loudly on the bedside table and startled up. It was well after noon. Natasha was the one calling so he put her on speakerphone and settled back down on the pillow. “Mrph,” he answered.

“You sound chipper,” Nat deadpanned. “I’m taking you out for lunch. One o’clock, that weird hipster place in the East Village. You’re going to tell me everything.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. As awful as the prospect of both food and getting out of bed sounded, he was desperate to see Natasha. 

“Don’t bring Bucky.”

“Rude.”

“He’ll stop me from interrogating you.”

That was true. Though more likely from painful attempts at flirting than out of any desire to shield Steve from Nat’s onslaught. “Your treat.”

“Obviously.” The line disconnected. 

Steve still felt like shit, but he was more comfortable in it, or getting used to it or something. Some of his grief had parted to make way for rage at a world that had dared pull him and Tony apart, even if he knew in his heart that wasn’t really what had happened. He settled in his anger. It was familiar and safe and gave him the strength to haul himself out of bed and change his clothes.

Bucky was sprawled on the couch. “Where you going?” he asked when Steve went for the door.

“Nat. Lunch.”

Bucky perked up. “Can I come?”

“God.” Steve rolled his eyes affectionately. “Just ask her out already.” Bucky reached out to swipe at him as he passed by, and Steve dodged, barely managing to scoot out of the way. “You’re not allowed. She wants to ‘interrogate me’,” he explained miserably.

Bucky chuckled. “Good.”

“That weird hipster place” was one they had been to a lot, and Steve knew he could walk there in under a half hour. The walk cleared his head a little, the fresh air and exercise actually working up an appetite. The wood-burned sign and bright green stool tops appeared across the street, and Steve jaywalked boldly, gesturing rudely at a cab that zipped in front of him. The restaurant was about half-full and even though he was five minutes early, Natasha already had a table and had ordered for them both. 

Steve settled into his seat across from her and took a long sip of his lemonade. A waiter with two full sleeves of tattoos set plates in front of them, and Steve smiled - she’d ordered his sandwich with extra cucumbers.

“So what’s your deal, Rogers?” Nat threw out, poking her fork into her salad.

Steve groaned and tipped back in his chair, eyes briefly caught by the twinkling lights strung around the edge of the faux-rustic wood ceiling. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this Lois Lane shit.”

“Tell me everything,” Natasha said, no nonsense.

“It just… got to be too much. We fought. I - I thought about it, and I needed to get out, get away. Clear my head. The last few weeks have been… not good.”

“So what was it about the Lois Lane shit that got to you? Waiting at home, watching him get beat up? Coming home with bullet holes?”

Steve thought about it. Sure, that was awful and scary, but… “No. It’s not that. That just makes me proud, incredibly proud. It’s terrifying, but I believe in what he does. It’s not that.”

“So, the danger then. Miami.”

Miami had definitely been the tipping point of all of it, but the more Steve rolled it around in his mind, the more he realized that wasn’t quite right either. As scared as he’d been, he had known Tony would come for him. Being a New Yorker was dangerous enough, it seemed. He could have just as easily been in Manhattan on his own for the Chitauri invasion even if he’d never met Tony. But instead, Tony had gotten him out, saved his life probably. He could get hit by a car, or have an asthma attack and not have his inhaler, or finally be struck down by the flu. Steve had never been one to back down in the face of danger, so no, that wasn’t it either.

“I don’t know what it was,” he mumbled, even as the thoughts clarified in his mind.

Natasha merely cocked an eyebrow and dug back into her salad. 

Steve sighed and poked at his food, feeling his cheeks heating as he thought about it more. It wasn’t the fear, or the danger. It was… Tony.

“He built me a suit.” His voice wavered in a way he didn’t expect.

“An Iron Man suit?”

“Yes. He didn’t ask or - or. He built me a suit.” Steve felt the same anger that had welled up in the workshop heating his blood now. “He tried to turn me into a  _ weapon.”  _

Natasha considered him blankly for a moment. She set her fork down. “Steve. Tony has never thought of the suit as a weapon. He’s argued adamantly that it’s not, multiple times. He might use it as a weapon sometimes, but he sees it as protection - armour - a shield. He always has. And you know that.”

Steve huffed out a frustrated groan and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Yeah… I know. It didn’t feel like that though. What if that’s what he needs? Someone strong enough to fight beside him. Someone who doesn’t… make him crazy.”

Natasha chuckled lightly. “Tony is always going to be crazy, Steve.”

“Not like this…”

“Tell me what happened,  _ цыпленок, _ ” Natasha pressed. “You’re not telling me the whole story.”

Steve cast his eyes around the restaurant. No one was watching them which was unusual. He’d gotten so used to being stared at when he was out with Tony. Nat was famous too, but no one seemed to recognize her when they were out. He twisted his fork between his fingers. He didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable telling Nat how he felt - maybe because he had no idea what she was going to suggest, and he wasn’t entirely sure which advice he wanted to get.

“I don’t want to leave,” he choked out. “But I’m scared to stay.”

“Scared of Tony?” Natasha pressed.

Steve shook his head violently. “No. Just of what I could make him do.”

“So you’re scared of you.”

“I’m scared to have that much power,” Steve managed. “Over him. I got hurt, and not even that badly and he… he kind of lost his mind. He’s been in the workshop non-stop ever since, trying to build me a high-tech, over-powered hamster ball so I never have to interact with the world again. Which - I get the impulse - but when normal people get overprotective they get you a rottweiler or install a new home security system. Tony… goes all out. I’m pretty sure he bought three entire companies just so he could use some of their proprietary software instead of spending a night figuring it out himself. I’ll be honest, I have no idea how to deal with that. How to deal with having that effect on someone that powerful. I feel like I could lift a pinky finger and be the reason he ends up a supervillain.”

“Love makes you crazy.”

“That’s the kind of thing people say when someone’s ex kills their dog because they catch you with someone new.” Steve pouted.

“Tony would never kill your dog. He might cyber stalk your new boyfriend while following you around with a not-so-subtle red and gold drone,” Natasha conceded. “But he loves dogs.” She shot Steve a cheeky smile.

Steve huffed. “Can you be serious?”

“I am as serious as the heart attack Clint’s going to have when he finds out what I did to his sock drawer.” She pointed her fork at him. “Steve. That is Tony, that will always be Tony. And you have his heart now, you have that power. If you need to leave because you’re scared of him, or you don’t love him anymore, or it’s too hard to live with Iron Man, fine. But if you’re scared of what you might do to him? I can promise you, all you’ve done since you met him is make him strive to be better. Sure, he’s had his low moments, but last time he was low he gave away everything he loved and destroyed an entire room in his home. I had to stab him in the neck. This time he tried to make you safe. Hun, if you need to leave for you, then I am behind you one hundred percent. But if you’re leaving for him? Stay.”

Steve swallowed hard around the lump that had wriggled its way into his throat. Every time Nat said the word, “leave,” it dug the hole in his chest a little deeper. And that alone said something, didn’t it? “I don’t want to leave,” he repeated.

Natasha reached across the table, and he let her take his hand. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there! Next week you will get the final chapter and the epilogue! Thanks for reading <3 <3 <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” - R. Buckminster Fuller_

Steve tumbled back into the condo feeling utterly wrung out. He’d only been awake for a few hours, and he already wanted to go back to bed. The shower in Bucky’s en suite was running, so he grabbed his sketchbook out of his bag, if only to give his hands something to do to keep him awake, and slumped down onto the sofa. 

He ended up staring aimlessly out the window, his pencil unmoving on the paper. Should he expect a gang of movers to show up at some point with all of this things? If Pepper was right, and she almost certainly was, Tony thought there was no chance Steve would come home. He’d given him this apartment, he expected him to stay. That meant clearing out the studio…

The pencil twitched between Steve’s fingers. He remembered moving in, how Tony had kept trying to get him to stop setting up and celebrate their co-habitation. And then, when he had finally finished, how they had celebrated. He could feel the ghost of Tony’s hands on him. Would he ever feel safe again? Not now that he knew what true safely felt like, locked in those arms. 

His hand moved of its own accord, roughing out the shapes he had drawn hundreds of times with practiced ease. Tony’s chin, chest, the curve of his shoulder, his hands, they slowly filled the page. He thought about calling this home, about living in a place filled with the ghost of Tony, like a lingering scent he couldn’t quite get enough of to feel satisfied. 

He could go back to Brooklyn… or farther. Leave New York. With school over, he could go anywhere he wanted to. His pencil curved around the edge of Tony’s eyes, soft with a warm smile, the way he looked at Steve whenever he got worked up and ranted about something. There was only one place he wanted to go: home.

“Good god, you are depressing,” Bucky said from behind him, and Steve startled up, snapping his sketchbook shut.

“Ass.”

“I’m taking you out to get drunk. I don’t care if it bankrupts me, so help me god, I will keep pouring liquor down your throat until you can’t walk straight. It’s my sworn duty as your best friend and brother to thoroughly drown your sorrows.” Bucky leaned over the couch and tapped Steve on the head. “But take a shower first, you smell like quinoa.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what quinoa smells like.” But Bucky had his head in the fridge, probably carba-loading in preparation for the marathon drinking he imagined was about to ensue. Steve allowed himself a smirk. There was no way Bucky could get Steve drunk before he was too tipsy himself to remember why they were out in the first place.

Steve rolled off the couch, tossing his sketchbook aside. Bucky was right - he did need a shower. He pulled his shirt off as he crossed the apartment to his room, then dumped it on his bed. He kicked his shorts off too and stood blankly in the bathroom for a full minute before he remembered that JARVIS wasn’t here to turn the water on for him. 

He worked the temperature right, then stepped in under the spray, feeling instantly refreshed as it pounded against his back. He raked the water through his hair, noticing with dismay that he needed a haircut, then reached for the shampoo. His hand snapped back as if he’d been burned as he stared down at the white bottle. It was the same coconut shampoo Tony kept at the penthouse, that he’d been using since he moved in. The world lurched to the side, and Steve’s hand wrapped around the railing. He felt like he was going to be sick.

It was insane; of all the things that hurt about being away from Tony, how was a stupid bottle of shampoo hurting the most? Steve gripped the bath rail until his hand throbbed, trying to shift the weighty pain that had settled over his shoulders. 

Natasha was right - he was scared of himself, not of Tony, never of Tony. And Tony was his safety, his armour, his home. Leaving wasn’t making anything better. He needed to talk to Tony, he needed to face his fear. He needed to go home.

He washed hurriedly, trying not to breathe in the familiar smell of the shampoo, then shoved out of the bathroom. He tried to dig through his pants pockets for his phone with one hand while rubbing a towel ineffectually over his chest with the other.

“You ready?” Bucky called from the other room.

“Minute!” Steve yelled back. He pulled fresh jeans on with one hand and shot out a text to Tony with the other.

_ Steve: Can I come over tonight? _

Tony hadn’t replied to his last text, but he’d reply to that surely? It was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Bucky yelled again, and Steve overturned his duffle bag, trying to find a clean shirt to wear. In the bottom, he’d stuffed another hooded sweater of Tony’s - god he was addicted. This one was from MIT and fit him a little better than the SI one, purchased for a teenage Tony’s slighter frame. Steve buried his nose in and breathed in Tony’s scent, faded since no one but Steve had worn it in years, but somehow still undeniably there.

He pulled the sweater on and trotted out of his room to meet a pushy Bucky. They walked down the street until they found a sports bar and claimed a spot. Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket under the table while Bucky grabbed them beers, but there were no notifications.

Bucky pushed the talk to non-Tony related things, and Steve was grateful for it. Now that he’d made up his mind to talk to Tony, to sort this out - if it could be sorted out - he didn’t want to talk about it with anyone else, as if he could use up all the words he’d lined up for Tony and show up with nothing to say.

They worked their way through two beers each and a plate of fries. Steve wasn’t even buzzed yet. He poked the dwindling ketchup puddle with a fry and frowned down at his phone. Still nothing. Pepper had said that Tony wouldn’t call, but Steve hadn’t expected that to mean he wouldn't get a reply to his question. It crossed his mind for the first time that Tony might not  _ want  _ to see him. He was the one to leave; what if Tony didn’t want him back? Had Tony… could Tony have blocked his number? Would he do that?

“Steve.”

Steve grumbled at Bucky, flicking to google to find out if you could look up whether someone had blocked you or was just ignoring you.

Steve,” Bucky repeated, insistently.

“What?” Steve snapped, looking up with a scowl. Bucky pointed across the bar at the TV. Steve followed his gaze and his heart hit the floor.

The Avengers were locked in a heated battle, and it must have been going on for a while because they usually cleaned things up fast enough that the press didn’t get live footage on TV. Steve held his breath as Iron Man swooped low around a press of buzzing, beetle-like insects the size of great danes, repulsors firing endlessly. The TV coverage was choppy and skipping from one superhero to another, setting Steve seething with frustration. If he could just see - the camera spun, and he saw Iron Man take a corner too wildly, three beetles clinging to his back, and skid into the side of a building. 

Steve shoved a crowd of people out of the way and made his way across the bar to the stools under the TV. He crawled up on a stool, then stood, turning the TV to face him, and he could finally hear the newscaster’s coverage. They didn’t know much. The beetles seemed to be released from some sort of bottomless, magic box and none of the team had been able to get close enough to destroy or stop it. 

Steve listened with half an ear, living for the moments when Iron Man appeared on screen. He heard frustrated voices behind him, but Bucky’s chimed in a second later and a grounding hand rested on his ankle. Bucky would take care of anyone that tried to bother him.

The footage went on-scene again, focused on Natasha as she tried to beat her way through the giant insects, but in the background, Steve could see Tony, darting between two buildings to blast a beetle to smithereens. Four beetles rounded the corner and slammed into Tony’s side, knocking him to the ground. Natasha spun, then darted off across the cracked concrete to the place where Tony had fallen. Steve bit the insides of his cheeks to stop from screaming pointlessly at the newscasters when they flicked their footage back to the studio again.

The next shot of the Avengers was Thor, and then  _ finally,  _ there was Tony again. But something was wrong. Steve knew the armour as well as he knew Tony’s body. He’d run his hands over every plate, curved his pencil along each seam and join, and something wasn’t right with Tony’s right side. Over his abdomen, the plates were bent and twisted, and Steve saw, with growing horror, that as Tony fought on, a dark stain was colouring the red and gold metal. 

“No…” Steve gave the TV a little shake, willing the camera to stay on Tony now. It didn’t; it darted around from cameraman to cameraman, trying to get the full picture from the ground, but every shot of Iron Man looked worse than the one before. The insects slammed into him and stuck, digging their mandibles into the broken edges of the armour and trying to peel him out of it. The dark stain on the side of the armour kept spreading, as the beetles kept piling on, and Tony kept blasting them away. Steve could tell he was tiring, his arms moving more slowly, with less precision. 

“Tony, Tony,” he murmured to himself. Three more beetles clamped onto Tony’s back and he didn’t even make an attempt to shake them off, slipping lower in the sky. The repulsor on one boot cut out and he tumbled to the side, allowing two more beetles to clamp on, their jaws working tirelessly against the armour. Where was Natasha, Clint,  _ Thor for fucks sake.  _ Tony couldn’t hold them off he was - 

And then he fell. 

The repulsors cut out completely, and Iron Man plummeted down, dead weight. He hit the surface of the Hudson with a massive crash and disappeared into the dark water. 

Steve didn’t realize he had both hands pressed to the TV, screaming Tony’s name, until Bucky’s arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him, flailing, off the stool. He smacked uselessly at Bucky for a moment, but the new arm was unbelievably strong, and Bucky carted him easily out of the bar and into the street. Bucky dragged him around the corner and pressed him against the brick wall of the alley.

“Stevie, you have to breathe.”

A shock of pain around Steve’s chest made him realize he hadn’t been. He sucked air as cold as ice into his lungs and choked on it. “He fell,” he gasped out.

“I know. Breathe for me, and we’ll find out what happened.” Bucky rummaged around in Steve’s pockets and came up with his inhaler, then pressed it into his hand. “Breathe.”

Steve took a puff of the inhaler and coughed, startling his lungs into action again. His eyes were hot and everything was blurry. “Bucky.”

“Come on.” Bucky grabbed his wrist and dragged him away from the wall. He had his face down to his phone, but he slipped back into the bar and checked the TV. They’d cut away from the live footage, only reporting that Iron Man was down and a solid six-block square of Manhattan was under evacuation.

“We have to - go.” Steve looked around wildly, trying to figure out which direction the battle was in. 

Bucky drove him out of the bar again, huffing out a sigh of frustration as he flicked through his phone. “There’s - wait. Stevie, wait.”

Steve stopped, his feet having carried him halfway down the block, in a random direction. “Bucky.”

“He’s out. Thor got him. Steve -” Bucky held out his phone, and Steve snatched at it.

It was a twitter post, a video taken from someone’s camera. Thor shot out of the sky into the water and emerged a moment later, Iron Man’s wrist held tight in one hand. The beetles were gone - presumably drowned - but Tony looked terrifyingly limp in Thor’s hold.

“It doesn't say if he’s okay, Bucky, it doesn’t say. Who do we -?” But then the phone was ringing in his hand, the caller ID photo a candid shot of Natasha smiling down at a magazine. Steve swiped to answer. “Natasha?”

“Steve? Is that you?”

“Yes. Is he -?”

“He’s okay.” 

All the air rushed out Steve’s lungs again, and he slid down the brick wall of the pub until he was sitting on the ground, his head between his knees. Bucky snatched the phone out of his hand and talked to Natasha for what felt like a long time. All Steve could do was repeat the words, “He’s okay,” over and over to himself.

Bucky hung up and relayed Natasha’s message. Tony was conscious and not in serious danger. He was “beat to shit” but had refused medical help, and last she’d seen him, he was flying back to the tower, still leaking Hudson River out of the cracks in the suit. Steve wasn’t sure if the sarcasm was Bucky’s or Natasha’s but he didn’t have the energy to appreciate it. He was rung out and exhausted and desperate to see Tony.

He lasted an hour before he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go over to the tower anyway, even though he hadn’t heard from Tony. If he was pissed, fine. Steve would rather be yelled at than deal with not having seen him since he’d watched his limp body pulled out of the water.

Steve took a cab, wincing at the cost. It wasn’t until he stepped out at the foot of Avengers Tower that he realized he might not have access anymore. It didn’t seem like something Tony would do, at least not antagonistically, but the tower was full of superheroes and Tony’s inventions and any number of things that shouldn’t be open to the public, and it was surely in their best interests to limit access to the people who still actually lived there. And that wasn’t him.

Steve debated, then went around to the back door. The front door was the SI public lobby and while he would at least be able to get in the building that way, he didn’t want to face a crowd of other people while he had an argument with JARVIS, locking him out of the private elevators.

But when he reached the back door, it opened for him on its own as it always had, and the elevator was already waiting for him. He slumped against the back wall with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, JARVIS.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve itched to ask JARVIS about Tony, but he held back. If Tony hadn’t revoked his tower access, he might not have revoked any of his access and it wasn’t really his place to ask JARVIS for insider info anymore. No - if he wanted to know how Tony was, he’d have to ask him himself. 

The elevator took him up to the workshop unasked, and Steve sighed. Of course Tony was there.

But to his surprise, Tony wasn’t at his desk and the lights were dim, the screens off. Steve almost stepped back in the elevator to ask JARVIS why he had taken him to an empty floor, when he noticed a light on in the art studio. Steve turned the corner and pushed through the door. Tony was sprawled out on Steve’s couch, his feet hanging over one arm. He was shirtless, and his right side was marred by a gaping wound, held closed jaggedly by several medical staples and some tape. Next to the couch was an empty pill bottle, an empty whiskey bottle and a stapler.

“Holy shit,” Steve choked out.

Tony’s eyes snapped open, and he pushed himself up on one elbow with a wince. “Huh?” he asked eloquently.

Steve took the last few steps to Tony’s side. He reached out towards the wound but pulled his hand back. “Did - did you do that yourself?”

Tony looked down at his own stomach, his eyes taking a moment to focus. “Oh yeah. I Mark Watney’d that bitch.” He laughed at his own joke and slumped back down on the couch. “Steeeve,” he whispered to himself softly.

“JARVIS, does Tony need to go to the hospital?”

There was an almost imperceptible but deeply disapproving pause. “Mr. Stark is not in immediate medical danger. The only major concern now is the possibility of future infection.”

Steve sighed. “Thanks, JARVIS.”

So, Tony needed antibiotics, but that could wait until tomorrow. As it was, Tony was probably too drunk and too high for Steve to get him up to bed, let alone a hospital. And Tony hated hospitals, they always poked at the arc reactor and asked him probing questions about his heart health. Steve risked a brush of his fingers over the reactor. Tony caught his hand before it could pull away and hummed happily, pressing Steve’s fingers against his mouth. 

Steve kicked at the empty bottle. “What did you even take?”

Tony stared at him for a moment. “I have absolutely no idea, but I’m pretty sure I just solved the national nuclear waste disposal problem with a rubber band and a paperweight in my head.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the edge of his lips. “I don’t doubt it.”

Tony wound their fingers together and tugged Steve closer. “I miss you.”

Steve’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. “I miss you too.”

“You should tell you that.” Tony waved a hand imperiously. “When you’re real.”

Steve looked around the dimly-lit studio. “Tony, why are you in here? You should be in bed. Or at least on the couch in the workshop. This one is tiny.”

Tony tipped his head back over the arm of the sofa so he was taking in the wall of completed paintings that hadn’t been packed or stored yet, upside down. “I like the art. It’s Steve’s.”

Steve crumpled, landing on the floor too hard, his back against the sofa by Tony’s hip. Tony’s hand came to rest on top of his head, playing with one strand of hair, winding it round and round his finger. Steve needed to have the conversation, needed to know if they could work this out, but Tony was high as a fucking kite and low on blood. He needed rest - and possibly a transfusion.

Steve couldn’t manage the latter, but the former, he could do.

He pushed himself back up, ignoring Tony’s whine as Steve’s hair slipped out of his fingers. “Okay, Tony. We’re going to go upstairs.”

“Okay,” Tony said amiably, and Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was easy. That was easier than when Tony was sober. He hadn’t even had to take his shirt off. Getting Tony up on his feet proved harder. He was unsteady, and Steve was terrified of reopening the wound. It took a long time, but with an arm around his waist, Tony’s arm over his shoulder, and quite a bit of help from DUM-E on the other side, Steve managed to get Tony into the elevator. 

Tony was drifting in and out, whatever narcotics he had downed making him nod off for a few seconds then bounce back into wakefulness, startled every time by Steve’s presence. Sometimes he frowned when he saw Steve watching him. A few times he mumbled, “Why are you here?” but more often than not, he smiled and said, “Hey, baby,” and that almost hurt worse.

Steve found himself wishing idly that they could both forget - that they could go back to before and never deal with Miami and never deal with after and never be apart because they belonged together. It took even longer to get Tony from the elevator to bed, without DUM-E’s help. But Steve had the counter and the back of the couch and the wall to help support them, and eventually, he tipped Tony down as gently as he could onto their - his - duvet. 

The wound looked dangerously weepy again, so Steve gathered supplies out of the bathroom and patched it up as best as he could. He smeared an antiseptic, analgesic gel over the worst of it and taped a large piece of padded gauze down on all sides. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than bleeding all over the sheets.

Tony had checked out completely now, failing to notice that someone else was there at all. Steve asked JARVIS several times if Tony really was okay - from whatever he’d taken more than the gash in his side - but JARVIS assured him that it was fine, Tony hadn’t taken more than was safe, and even though you shouldn’t drink after, it wasn’t life-threatening. He was in for a hell of a hangover in the morning, though.

Even still, Steve hated the thought of leaving him. Sure JARVIS would watch, and call 911 if Tony took a turn for the worse, but he shouldn’t be alone. He just… shouldn’t

Steve sat back against the headboard next to where Tony was now snoring softly. This used to be his side of the bed. He ran his hand over the pillow and then across the top of the bedside table. Everything was the way he had left it, from the end of his phone charger peeking out the back, to the ten minutes fast clock that got him out of bed in the morning. His socks were probably still in the top drawer, alongside two industrial sized bottles of lube they had made a truly epic dent in.

It hurt. All of it hurt. And now he was stuck in limbo while Tony slept off his self-medication. Steve tipped his head back against the wall with a soft thud. He turned and watched Tony sleeping beside him. He looked in pain now, now that he was sleeping; little creases pinched around his eyes, and his body curled in on itself. 

Steve lay a hand on Tony’s shoulder and shifted down on the blankets. He would stay here and watch over him tonight. And tomorrow, they would talk.

**

Steve woke slowly, registering the warm, soft homeness of the sheets he was wrapped in. Then memory slammed into him and sent him jolting upright, eyes snapping open. Tony wasn’t asleep, but he hadn’t left. He was at the foot of the bed, propped up against the footboard. His arms were crossed over his chest, his left hand dipped to press over the white bandage on his side. His eyes were open and fixed on Steve, but his expression was blank, unreadable.

“Well, that’s not how I expected to wake up. In the gutter, sure, but next to you - that’s a surprise.” His voice was low and even - too even. It was making Steve squirm. “I didn’t think you were really here.”

“No, you didn’t. Whatever you took, you took a lot of it.”

“Morphine.” Tony’s arms shifted, his left staying around his middle while his right hand came up to tap against the arc reactor. He hadn’t put on a shirt. “I needed a lot of it.” He paused, and Steve could see him rolling words around in his mind.

“Tony, I -”

“No, Steve.” He crumpled, losing his composure and bringing his hand up from the reactor to furrow nervously through his hair. “You can’t - you can’t  _ do this.  _ I woke up…”

And Steve realized for the first time what it must have been like for Tony to wake up to Steve in his bed beside him, still reeling from the drugs and the pain, maybe thinking the last few weeks had never happened…

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to - I came here to talk to you last night, but then you were so out of it and I didn’t feel safe leaving you.”

“I would have been fine,” Tony mumbled.

“I know.  _ I  _ didn’t feel safe leaving you. I would have worried all night.”

“Sorry.” Tony was clanging shut again, cool and detached.

“That’s not -”

“I have something to show you.” Tony shifted against the footboard. The conversational whiplash sent Steve reeling.

“What?”

“I have something to show you - offer you, I guess. A thing. For you. I was going to, you know, write a note and have it sent over so you wouldn’t have to - but yeah if you’re here...”

It felt like the edge of a precipice, and Steve wasn’t sure what he’d be falling into on either side, but he nodded and slipped out of bed. Tony stood, grabbed a shirt and struggled into it, trying not to move either arm too much. Steve itched to help him, but shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted. 

They stood on either side of the elevator in silence as Tony lead the way down to the workshop. Steve’s speech was welling up inside him, but he held back, not sure if he was waiting for the right moment or chickening out. 

Tony walked briskly across the workshop floor, but then tumbled into his chair with a groan, his eyes squeezed shut. He still had his left hand braced across his stomach, palm flat over the injury.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Tony swallowed, blinked twice, then shook his head. “Here.” He reached out and plucked something off his desk, holding it up for Steve to see.

It was a smooth, black circle of metal - a bracelet - no decorations or colour on it, but it was still beautiful, squared off at the edges but in a way that didn’t look sharp, thick enough to not come across as dainty, but thin enough to be stylish. Tony pinched it between two fingers and twisted it back and forth. It caught the light like metal, but sometimes it seemed unwilling to let it go again, confident in its darkness.

Steve watched it move. “What does it do?”

Tony took a few shallow breaths. “This.” He squeezed two spots - indistinguishable from any other point on the bracelet - and his computer exploded with the Avengers alert, a 3D map popping up with their location marked with an “S”. Steve’s eyes went to the screen, then back to the bracelet. “Only you can activate it once you put it on. I didn’t want - I don’t want to  _ stalk  _ you. You said you needed to go, okay, I can - but if something happened to you because of… me.

“Steve, they’re not going to care that you left. You will always be my greatest weakness. I don’t think I can hide that part of me. I can’t pretend I don’t love you. So… even if you’re not here, you’re in danger. I’m - I’m so fucking sorry about that, but I can’t… fix it.” Tony dropped his face into his hand again, bracing his elbows on his knees and folding forward, the bracelet still held between his fingers, tipped towards Steve. “So if something happens, I need - I want to know that you have a way of calling. Think of it as - as calling Iron Man for help. He does that shit, saves people. It doesn’t have to be… me.”

Steve reached out and plucked the bracelet from Tony’s fingers. He slid his own along the smooth metal surface - if it even was metal; it didn’t have a cool bite to it like he expected. It was silky and skin-warmed like polished stone. Tony’s eyes snapped up, fixed on the bracelet in Steve’s hands, his mouth falling slightly open as Steve worked it over his fingers and around his wrist. 

Tony looked like he wanted to speak but no words would come so Steve took a step forward and Tony’s eyes found his face instead. “I’ll wear it, but one condition.”

“Anything,” Tony breathed.

“I want you to be able to activate it too. From here.”

“Steve…”

“Tony, I never minded you protecting me. And I’ve never worried about you knowing where I am. That wasn’t the - If something happens, if I’m hurt or - or can’t… I _ want  _ you to be able to find me. It makes me feel safe. Thank you.”

Tony looked like he’d been smacked in the face, eyes wide with surprise, fixed back on Steve’s wrist. Steve reached out, unable to resist the urge to touch any longer. He hooked two fingers under Tony’s chin and lifted until their gazes met. He took another step, firmly into Tony’s space. “I’m so proud of you, of what you do. I think you’re incredible. You’re a hero, my hero, you’ll always be. But I don’t want that -” Steve gestured towards the wall of Iron Man suits, standing at attention, waiting “- for myself. I believe in helping people, and I’ll always stand up for what I believe in, but I don’t want that. If I did, I would have joined the army with Buck.

“When you build things for me… when you made that suit, it felt like you wanted me to be an Avenger. You kept giving me Iron Man when all I wanted was Tony. I love you like crazy, but that scared the crap out of me.”

Tony’s hands hooked on the edges of Steve’s hoodie pocket, reminding him of the night he had left. His fingers twitched, fiddling with the hem of the fabric as if they were desperate to touch more, but they held back. 

“I came here last night to ask you if I could come home.”

Tony made a twisted, strangled noise and tugged. Steve gave easily, letting Tony press the top of his head against Steve’s stomach. He furrowed his fingers through Tony’s hair, stroking, soothing. “God, Steve, of course. Do you really -?”

“Mhm.” Steve pushed forward now, easing Tony back in the chair and climbing into his lap, careful not to press against the places he’d seen bruised and battered last night. But Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and hauled him in, squeezing him against his chest. It must have been painful, but Tony didn’t seem to care, burying his face in Steve’s neck, breathing in hard.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.”

Steve pressed his face to Tony’s hair, arms around his neck. “I missed you too.” Tony choked on his next breath, pressing his face deeper into Steve’s collar, his shoulders shaking a little. Steve held on, petting his hair, placing kisses everywhere he could reach. When Tony pulled back a little, Steve took Tony’s face in both hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, the first in a long time, the first since Tony had last come to bed with him. “I love you.”

Tony made a pained noise that was half-whine, half Steve’s name and pulled him in for another desperate, grasping kiss. “I didn’t think you would come back. I was sure I’d fucked everything up.”

Steve stroked his hands over Tony’s face, frowning. “You didn’t fuck it up, Tony. It was me, I panicked.”

“Because - because I couldn't protect you, I couldn’t make you feel safe.”

“No, no… that’s not…” Steve sighed, trying to put his thoughts into words. “What happened to me was scary, and awful, and I’m still not really over it.” Tony’s arms tightened around Steve’s waist. “But… I could get through it - with you. But it felt a little bit like I lost you, always down here, poking away, trying to  _ fix it.  _ You were so obsessed with fixing it, you forgot that I needed you to fix  _ me.  _ I was - am a bit broken after Miami. And, Tony, you’re the only one who can take me apart and the only one who can put me back together again. I didn’t need you down here building me a suit of armour, or a shield, I needed your hand in mine. I don’t need metal - I’m not scared of them if you’re with me.”

Tony took a shaky breath. He glanced around the workshop. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. “I should have explained better. I should have told you what I needed. I think - I didn’t even know what I needed.”

“I’m here,” Tony said, almost desperately. “I can be here - whatever you need.”

“I know.” Steve brought their foreheads together, and Tony’s hand came to the back of his neck, his broad palm letting his fingers wrap easily around, the warm weight of his arm along Steve’s back. Steve shivered - this was what safety felt like. “I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I hurt you. Tony, I’m - I’m scared of what I could make you do. You - you almost killed Killian.” Steve was shaking now and Tony clutched him even closer. “I almost saw you do that. I met him at a party and then - then -” he broke off, unable to speak through the dry sobs that rattled up through his spine. He trembled in Tony’s arms, while Tony surrounded him completely, holding his face against his chest and humming low and soothing. 

Steve hadn’t realized until now that they’d never talked about it, he’d never brought it up, or even really thought about it, but it was  _ terrifying  _ that Steve being hurt could fill Tony with so much rage that he could kill someone unarmed and under control. He flashed back to Tony’s gauntlet gripping Killian’s throat, and he squeaked, burrowing further into Tony’s hold. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. I was so scared. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

Steve came down slowly, the shivering giving way under the surrounding warmth of Tony’s hold. His breathing steadied out, and he sat back, running both hands over his face and scraping his nails through his hair, shaking off the last of the overwhelming rush of emotion. Tony looked utterly gutted, ripped apart and destroyed - he looked hurt worse than he had after the Battle for New York. Steve pressed a hand on either side of Tony’s jaw. “I didn’t even realize how scared I was.”

“I - I could see it,” Tony admitted. “I could see you were scared, but I didn’t know what to give you to make you feel safe again.”

“You make me feel safe,” Steve reiterated. “This helps.” He lifted his wrist. “We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Tony nodded, then pressed a kiss first to the scar on Steve’s neck, then to his lips. “You’re coming home?”

“Yes. I’m home. I’m staying home. You should spend too much money on having someone bring my stuff over.” He grinned. “I’m not leaving.”

Tony chuckled. “I can do that.”

“Though, actually, Bucky seems to really like it there… he might want to stay. Would that be okay?”

“Of course. You don’t want him here?”

Steve considered it. It hadn’t really crossed his mind until this moment. He had been too overwhelmed by the thought of where he was going to end up. “I think it would be good,” he said slowly. “If he wants it. I think it would be good for him to be on his own. We could keep his room here, if he wants to stay the night, but yeah, I think that apartment suits him.”

“Plus, when he finally gets his head out of his ass and asks Natasha out, they need somewhere private they can go to get to know each other, cause lord knows the assholes in this tower won’t leave them be.”

Steve grinned, he stroked his palms down over Tony’s chest, thrilling with the pleasure of knowing he was allowed to do that again. “Exactly.”

“Steve.” Tony waited until Steve’s eyes met his. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

They let out a shared sigh, releasing the remaining tension between them. Steve shifted around so he had both legs over Tony’s lap, leaning sideways against Tony’s chest, his right arm crossed over his stomach so he could twine his fingers with those of Tony’s left where it rested on his waist.

“So,” Steve started, twisting his chin up to catch Tony’s eye. He held his wrist out in front of them and watched the sleek band slip down his forearm. “What else does it do?”

Tony adopted a deeply offended look. “What makes you think it does anything else? You know what, I am perfectly capable of making something that only does one thing. I could even - I bet I could make a bracelet that was just, you know, a bracelet, for decoration. It seems theoretically possible. I’d have to check the math but -”

“Tony.”

“Yeah, okay, if you slide this latch and bring it up over your fingers it turns into highly electrified brass knuckles.”

Steve stared at it for a moment then burst out laughing. “Of course it does.” He fiddled with the edges of it, spinning it around his wrist. He wasn’t really a jewelry person, but he found he liked wearing something Tony had made him. “And - uh - why isn’t it Iron Man colours?” Steve smiled down at it. “I’m surprised you could resist making it match the armour. Also, a little, ‘hey don’t fuck with Iron Man’s boyfriend,’ quality.”

Tony was silent for a second. “I was going to give it to you, you know, anyway. I thought - I thought you, uh, wouldn’t want to wear my colours. If we weren’t -”

“Oh.” Steve looked at the bracelet then back up to Tony’s face. His eyes were shining with almost unfathomable depth of feeling. Steve could feel it rolling off him in waves, and he never wanted to be without it again. “If you make a Mark II…” he said softly. “I want it to be red and gold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last chapter folks!! We'll be posting an epilogue in a few hours :D. Thanks for reading!


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If you hang out with chickens, you're going to cluck and if you hang out with eagles, you're going to fly." - Steve Maraboli_

“No.” Steve put his hands on his hips. “JARVIS said you shouldn’t exert yourself for another few days at least. Just to be sure.”

“Come on…” Tony whined, pulling Steve’s hands off his hips and pressing kisses to them. His eyes were twinkling, and he kept shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot like a kid excited to go to the park. He tossed Steve’s hands up to his shoulders and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and tipping his mouth teasingly close. “You know you want to… it’ll be fine. I feel fine.”

“Tony…” Steve warned.

“Look, if it hurts, I promise I’ll stop, okay?” He slipped his fingers under the edge of Steve’s t-shirt. “It’s just been so long.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“That’s forever in genius years.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“I just made it a thing.” Tony kissed the spot above Steve’s eyebrow where the cut had long healed, and then nuzzled his face under Steve’s jaw to kiss the scar that still marred his neck. Tony’s breath was warm behind his ear, and his lips were soft. Steve sighed, melting in his hold. He could feel his resolve melting too.

“Fine. But quick!”

“Yes!” Tony stepped back and fist pumped the air once before spinning across the workshop to crash into his chair.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re like a kid.”

“I have a lot of pent-up energy.” Tony cocked an eyebrow at Steve, and even in the state of mild annoyance he was in, the look shot straight south. Steve smirked back and saw the shiver of arousal wriggle down Tony’s spine. Tony turned to his computer, typing for a moment, and Steve leaned over the back of a chair, watching Tony’s eyes as they flit back and forth across the screen.

Fuck, he loved that man.

“Okay, ready?” Tony spun back across the workshop, tugging Steve into his arms and driving him across the room.

“I guess…”

Tony skidded to a halt. “Nope. You’re not wearing enough clothes.”

Steve sighed, but let Tony shove a hoodie over his head. Tony pulled the hood up and yanked on the strings until the hood closed over Steve’s face. “I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy the view much like this.”

Tony kissed the end of his nose where it stuck out. “Your nose will enjoy it.”

“My nose will turn to ice and fall off.”

Tony grinned at him as Steve shoved the hood open until he could see. “Alright.” He pushed Steve out the door onto the landing pad, leaving him tucked against the wall. “Wait here.”

Steve would never get sick of watching Tony put on the armour. The robotic arms reached up and fixed each plate into place, whirring and clicking as his body was slowly encased in metal. The prehensile suits were cool, the suitcase suit was impressive, but this would always be Steve’s favourite. Tony disappeared bit by bit, replaced by Iron Man, until the faceplate snapped down with a clang and the eyes glowed as he powered up. Tony jumped back across the balcony, using the repulsors to super-power his leap so he could land right in front of Steve. “Ready?”

“Ugh, that never stops being unbelievably hot,” Steve said, adjusting his jeans.

He could feel Tony’s smirk behind the mask. “This is better, trust me.” 

“I do.”

Tony took a step forward and held out a gauntlet-covered hand. “Hey there hot stuff, need a ride?” 

Steve took it with a grin, letting Tony pull him up against his chest. “I told you, you didn’t need to keep picking me up, Tony.”

“How about impressing you?”

“That’s allowed.”

“Hmm…” Tony popped the faceplate, tugged Steve in for a kiss, then snapped it shut again. “I think I’ll pick you up anyway.” He wrapped one arm around Steve’s back and lifted, pulling him right off his feet with a yelp of surprise. The other arm hooked under his knees, locking him tight into Tony’s arms. The repulsors roared to life. 

Steve couldn’t help it, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against Tony’s metal chest. They were so fucking high up and he was just out in the open - it was terrifying. Tony had been pushing - gently - to give Steve a proper ride with the suit since the last time had been entirely wrapped up in pain and fear and shock. Tony knew how much Steve loved Iron Man, and he didn’t want Steve to remember that horrible flight when he imagined being up in the air.

But now that he was actually here, he suddenly very much wasn’t sure he wanted to be. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Tony’s modulated voice whispered in his ear.

“I can’t,” Steve moaned.

Tony laughed. Steve heard a whir and a click, and then Tony’s lips pressed against one of his closed eyes. “You can.”

Startled, Steve shot them open and saw that Tony had opened the faceplate. They were high in the sky, hovering vertically. Steve couldn’t bring himself to turn away from Tony’s chest to look down, but he looked out over his own knees and saw endless miles of bright, blue sky. “Wow.”

“I’ve got something to show you that I think you’ll like.” Tony was grinning with manic glee.

Steve eyed him up. “No pain?”

“None. I feel fine.”

He meant it, so Steve nodded, and the faceplate snapped shut again. Tony’s arms shifted under him, and Steve gasped, clinging to his metal bicep with all of his strength, but of course Tony was only making him more comfortable for the flight, shifting Steve’s weight so he could tip forward. 

As they flew, Steve relaxed. It was actually less scary than being high up on a building because he could feel the rock-solid cage of Tony’s arms around him. Tony flew very slowly, probably the slowest the armour would allow for without falling out of the sky, so while it was windy, it wasn’t bitterly cold. Steve gazed around, finally finding the guts to peer over the edge of Tony’s arm towards the ground. New York sprawled below them, a sea of glittering glass and metal. They swooped lower, lower than any plane could go, and darted between the buildings. 

Steve started whipping his head around, trying to catch sight of everything, but they were moving too fast. They dipped low over central park then pulled a spiral around a sleek, glass-covered office building, and he found himself laughing. The wind yanked the sound away, but it couldn’t banish the grin he wore. Tony zipped off again, apparently bored with using skyscrapers as his own personal playground. He shot off down a street, over a glistening stretch of water, then screeched to a halt.

Steve twisted his head around, trying to see where they were until Tony shifted his hold again and it came into view. The Brooklyn Bridge, exactly the opposite angle from the one Steve had painted for his final. If he had super sight he would have been able to see the spot on the street he’d taken his reference photo from. The sun was setting, and the bridge glowed, the light that reflected off the metal posts almost overwhelming. Beneath them the river churned and waved, chugging along endlessly.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed out.

Tony popped the faceplate again. “That’s what you said when you first saw my apartment.”

Steve grinned. “This is better.”

“I seem to recall I got laid last time.”

Steve laughed outright and turned to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “This time’ll be better,” he promised, his voice dropping low as he tucked his face into the corner of the helmet. 

“Time to go home!” Tony announced, waiting until Steve had leaned back in his arms to close the faceplate again. “Want the fun way home?”

“What’s the fun way?” Steve asked with more than a little suspicion.

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

Steve braced himself, but he still gave a yelp when Tony shifted him in his arms again. This time, Tony let Steve’s legs fall straight below him, wrapping one firm across his hips and the other around his chest. Steve hung on tight as Tony tipped forward for flight again, Steve hanging below like a hang glider, caught in the hammock of Tony’s arms. It was terrifying, but exhilarating at the same time, and when he started whooping with excitement on every turn, Tony upped the speed a bit, banking tighter and rolling around the buildings. 

By the time they touched down again, Steve’s hair was wild and his cheeks were tingling. His hood had come down at some point and his ankles were frozen solid, but he was grinning from ear to ear and he couldn’t seem to stop. Tony peeled out of the armour and rushed forward to gather Steve in his arms, warm and soft and human this time. 

Steve buried his face in Tony’s chest and giggled, the adrenaline rush needing some way to burst free. “Holy shit.”

“So you said.” He could feel the smile in Tony’s voice too.

Steve was filled with a manic, gleeful energy. He finally understood why Tony came back from flights looking like he’d been on the world’s best roller coaster. It was incredible. He told Tony as such as he drove him backwards towards the elevator. 

“I’m glad you had fun.” Tony broke into a gasp as Steve latched onto his neck, sucking a dark bruise over his collarbone. They fumbled their way into the bedroom, and Steve urged Tony to lie back on the bed. He stripped off his clothes as quickly as he could and climbed up to straddle Tony’s hips. Tony’s hands went to Steve’s sides, gripping, guiding, rolling him so he ground down onto Tony’s lap. “Ahh, fuck.”

Tony shifted to roll them over, but Steve put a hand on his chest. He frowned at him. “I wasn’t kidding. You can’t do too much this fast.”

“Are you seriously going to blue ball me, Rogers? After all that?” Tony gestured to their general state of writhing undress.

“Of course not.” Steve bent down and kissed Tony hard, drawing a line of kisses over his cheek and down the ridge of his jaw to his neck. “But I’m going to take care of you this time.”

“Uh…” Tony stared at him, and Steve could almost see the thoughts bursting above Tony’s head like little bubbles. “Okay. That’s hot.”

“Good. Stay.” Steve pressed his hand to Tony’s chest, and Tony made a show of throwing his arms wide and sinking into the sheets. 

Steve unhooked Tony’s jeans and wriggled them over his hips, tugging them free and tossing them on the ground. He followed with Tony’s shirt, taking a moment to trace around the edge of the arc reactor. He must have had a hundred paintings of Tony’s chest downstairs in the studio, and he could easily paint a hundred more. Tony hummed as Steve kissed his way up his chest, pausing to run his tongue over his nipple. Tony’s eyes fell shut as he tipped his head back against the mattress, then shot open again as Steve pressed a soft palm over the jagged mark that cut across Tony’s right side. 

Tony’s hand covered Steve’s, and their gazes met, electricity, wanting, and understanding passing between them. Steve went back to his explorations, kissing a line from the edge of the still-healing mark down Tony’s stomach and to the crease of his hip. Tony’s leg shook as he waited for Steve to touch his begging cock. Steve sucked a mark to the inside of Tony’s thigh and his cock twitched, a trail of precum dripping down to his stomach. 

Steve took pity on him and tipped his chin, letting the head of Tony’s cock slip between his lips. Tony groaned, his fingers twitching on the bed, but he managed to resist the obvious urge to move, grab, grasp. Steve slid down, letting spit ease his path, until Tony’s cock hit the back of his throat. He swallowed and shifted back, sucking his cheeks in as he went. 

Tony moaned again, and Steve echoed the sound, letting the vibrations dance around his tongue. Tony’s hips twitched up in response. Steve shifted around, never faltering in his rhythm, until he could reach the lube in his bedside drawer. He squeezed a considerable amount on his fingers and, keeping his left hand wrapped around the base of Tony’s cock, brought his right behind him to finger his hole open.

Tony swore when he realized what Steve was doing, his hand rested on Steve’s hip and tugged, until Steve spun, on his hands and knees now, his ass thrust in Tony’s face. He worked two fingers in and out of his body, twisting and stretching and focusing on getting himself loose and ready, more than feeling good. 

He was about to add a third, when a soft touch on his hand made him jump. He stuttered as he worked his mouth over Tony’s cock, slipping free to swallow hard, then sucking him down again. Tony pressed one finger down the curve of Steve’s ass, then eased it in next to the two fingers he already had buried in his hole. Tony joined Steve in working him open, pulling free only to slide in again, underneath this time. Steve groaned, the sound muffled by his mouthful of Tony, then pulled back to swear as Tony curled his finger around and found Steve’s prostate with unerring accuracy. 

“Jesus Christ, how do you do that?” he gasped, breaking into a whine as Tony worked his finger in further. It was deliciously filthy that they were doing this together, Tony sprawled casually on the sheets, one finger torturing Steve’s ass, rubbing up against the two fingers that Steve had stilled, in the face of Tony’s distracting attention. 

Tony thrust his finger in again, deep this time, and Steve choked off a grunt and whipped his fingers away. “That’s it.” He spun around and straddled Tony’s hips again. He reached behind him to grab Tony’s cock and sunk down, biting his lips as the thick head pushed past the rim, then groaning as he slid home, settling down to sit on Tony’s lap. “God, you make me feel so  _ full.”  _

_ “Ungh,”  _ seemed to be all Tony could manage. He had tilted his head back, eyes squeezed shut, his fingers wound back in the sheets by his sides. 

Steve rocked his hips back and forth, feeling Tony deep inside him, stretching him impossibly even after they’d worked him open together. When the motion made Tony moan, he repeated it, hitching up as he rocked forward, then sliding down again as he shifted back. Tony’s hands snapped to his hips and they moved together, the pace increasing as pleasure built for both of them.

Steve was mindful of his breathing, aware that this position could bring on an asthma attack, but he felt fine, in control, easy. Even as the pace built, it wasn’t tiring. Steve locked his arms to Tony’s wrists, bracing himself as he slid up. His head spun pleasantly, the rest of the room drifting away until it was just Tony, Tony under and around and inside of him. He was so lost in sensation, in pleasure, in movement, that he barely registered Tony’s hands clenching and releasing on his hips, halting the easy slide, throwing off the rhythm.

“I’m gonna -” Tony grabbed him again, rocked him forward once, then slammed him back, grunting as he drove his own hips off the bed to press as deeply as possible into Steve. Steve could feel the pulsing throbs of Tony’s cock as he came. He felt full of him, filled up by him, claimed by him. Everything was Tony.

“Tony,” he muttered, his hands falling to Tony’s chest, framing the arc reactor. 

“Fuck, that’s -” Tony cut off. Steve’s hips rocked forward again, too buzzed with pleasure to tamp down the need to move and Tony cried out, hypersensitive after his orgasm. Steve watched as his face shifted from overwhelmed to determined. He grabbed Steve’s hips firmly and tugged, yanking him up, off his cock and over his chest, making Steve yelp in surprise. 

Tony put his hands on Steve’s ass and pushed until Steve folded over him, bracing on the headboard, and he tipped his chin back and swallowed Steve’s as of yet untouched cock down in one.

“Holy,  _ fuck!”  _ Steve bucked into the sensation and Tony choked, tightening his grip on Steve’s hips and rocking him back. “Sorry,” he whined, rapidly losing his ability to speak as Tony sucked him down over and over. Instead of moving his head, Tony shifted Steve’s hips, up and back, and down and forward, so Steve was fucking his mouth but without any control of his movements. He sunk into the hold, letting Tony drive him, his head spiralling in pleasure. He could feel Tony’s come leaking out of his hole, still thrumming with sensation, nerves alight. 

It seemed that somehow Tony could sense Steve’s attention because he brought his hand back and stroked it over his slick cock, covering his hand in his own come. He brought his hand to Steve’s mouth, never pausing in his blow job, and slipped two fingers between Steve’s lips. Steve sucked, revelling in the bitter taste of Tony on his tongue, eyes fixed on the place where his cock disappeared into Tony’s mouth, the slide in and out still guided by Tony’s hand on his hip. Tony pulled his fingers back and wrapped his hand around Steve’s back, dragging the same fingers along his ass and through the mess of come and lube. He circled Steve’s hole, then pushed inside, filling Steve back up with Tony, so much Tony. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he cried out, breaking free of Tony’s preset rhythm and slamming his cock home on his own now. “I’m going to come. I’m -  _ uhhhnnn _ \- Tony please, can I come on your face?” Steve gasped out and Tony nodded, swallowing around the head of Steve’s cock. He sucked his cheeks again, crooked his fingers, and that was it. Steve rocked back on Tony’s hand, burying his fingers deep in his ass and pulled free of Tony’s lips just in time, shooting streaks of white over Tony’s lips and cheeks and chin. “Oh my god.”

Tony’s tongue darted out, sliding through the mess and Steve surged down, chasing it with his own, cleaning Tony’s lips and the inside of his mouth.

Tony caught Steve just in time, not even realizing himself that he was tipping over until it was too late, but Tony’s arms wrapped around him and eased him onto the bed, pressing smiling kisses to his face and making a mess of them both. A giggle shot out of Steve’s throat again and he pressed his lips together to block another one from leaking out. Tony gazed down at him, grinning wildly, come still dripping from his chin. “You’re a mess,” Steve told him.

“I’m your mess,’ Tony corrected, flicking out his tongue against the tip of Steve’s nose. 

“You are.” Steve found the energy to grab a kleenex from the nightstand and wipe Tony’s face clean. “Mine.” He tugged Tony close until he was locked in the cage of his arms, face pressed to his chest. Tony curled around him, winding their legs together. “Don’t put me down,” Steve whispered against the curve of Tony’s collarbone.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! Another floomies story done and dusted. Thank you so much for the kudos/comments/asks/etc, we love you all. (Also Sap answers all the comments, but Ferret would like you to know she reads and loves the comments too and is so grateful for all your love for this series!)
> 
> We're taking a wee break from floomies to get a few other projects finished up, including In Trouble Deep which is halfway through posting. We'll definitely be coming back to this, though; we love these horny, adorable idiots so much. If you want to stay up to date, sub the series or follow one of us on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks again! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit us on tumblr at festiveferret.tumblr.com and sirsapling.tumblr.com. Sometimes Sap draws these lovable dorks as chickens which is always fun. We tag Art is Long related things with the #floomies tag (don't ask). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
